Will-O'-the-Wisp
by DiscoShoesDon'tMakeIt
Summary: Happy endings make for dreary beginnings make for happy endings, ad nauseam. Disillusioned and merely existing among their compromises, two friends long separated reunite, reevaluating themselves while working together to solve a hometown mystery sprouting from a far more sinister plot.
1. Velocity: Design: Comfort

**"Run away, deeper to see,**  
**Baby run away, deep summer sea,**  
**Baby run away, to the sun, to the comfort."**

The sun slithered from above into the narrow gorge, through overarching palm fronds, along the red sandstone and knotted abseiling ropes down the abyss to the narrow rocky bottom. In the cool shade against the canyon wall stood a group of men wearing khaki safari outfits, rigged up with packs and long rifles. They were gathered around a pulpit carved into a niche in the rocky wall.

One man stepped forward, caressing the dust from the runes adorning the front of the platform. He recited an incantation from a scroll and the pulpit shivered, its top opening to birth a beautiful jade stature. Glowing finely even in the shade, the sculpted stone formed a fierce, squarish tiger, sitting on its back legs with its paws curled in front of it. Extending both hands to claim his prize, the explorer lifted the snarling statue up over his head, where it caught the sunlight in vibrant diffusion.

"And so it begins. A power hidden for centuries will now be released by-" A small stone dropping caught the attention of everyone, heads tossing around to find the noise. Their aimed guns were waved down by the leader, whose other hand continued holding the statue aloft.

"We have nothing to fear men, not now. With the Tekka Tiger at our disposal, we shall be able to-" A breeze slashed the dead air, led by fluttering red hair and a gloved hand outstretched. Snatched away, the statue continued its trajectory with its new holder up onto an outcropping of rock bathed in light high above the group.

"Why do thieves waste perfectly fine escape opportunities on mindless chatter with mindless cohorts?" Said the figure, athletically female, who stopped momentarily to bag the idol and draw a red grappling gun from her holster, "I can't complain though, it always gives me a window."

"You are as much a thief as us, strange vigilante."

Her eye roll was evident even from down below. "Maybe you haven't heard of me, but you've probably heard 'possession is nine-tenths of the law.'" She shouldered her sack and scanned the scene.

"Enough. Men, aim to kill but do not hit the Tiger."

"Oh, I guarantee they won't."

As the men raised their rifles, the red haired figure slapped a sticky hemisphere to the canyon wall before diving from her platform, just as the guns cracked. Falling through the air, she fired her grappling gun up to a spindly tree crowing out of the cliff face above, riding the taut pendulum just above the heads of the men and up. Behind her, a bullet struck the hemisphere, igniting an explosion and triggering a rock slide. Clicking the line return on her gun, she sailed up the gorge, watching below as her assailants disappeared in the dusty distance.

Once at the tree, halfway out of the chasm, she grabbed hold and unwrapped her grapple, re-aiming it towards a palm tree that sagged lazily over the gorge. It hit the target and she rappelled upward, knocking the spindly tree loose under her feet as she dismounted. It tumbled pathetically out of sight.

Emerging from the ground, she left some line between the tree and herself to swing across to where the men left their ropes tied around the tree. Tugging the first three and feeling no resistance, she drew her machete over her back and hacked them until they slithered along the ground into the abyss. The last line was taut. Leaning over the edge, she saw the leader, pulling himself up knot by knot.

"You down there. Drop your weapons into the canyon and I'll let you up."

His attention drawn, he frantically swung from side to side. His safari hat fell away, revealing an older gentleman with grey stubble and spectacles. She could see the unpredictable fear in his eyes from here.

"I can't trust you." His reply echoed up to her.

"You don't have any choice."

His swinging slowed and she watched him draw a silver pistol from a shoulder mounted holster, holding it out at his side. His gaze fell away to the piece.

"You're correct. I have no choice."

He fired, striking the overhang below her feet. She flipped backwards, landing beside the tree that tethered him.

"We seem to be in disagreement over your choice." She called. The rope began to wiggle; he was ascending again. "Drop the gun and I'll let you up."

Receiving no reply, she moved along the chasm and peered over again. He was shimmying up with his feet and one hand, his gun aimed unflinchingly up where she had last looked down at him.

"Drop it or I'll cut it." She said, her ultimatum drawing his attention. He fired towards her new position from which she withdrew unscathed. Scrambling to the tree, she reefed on the line, hearing him connect with the rock wall as she did.

"Last chance." Her machete sat poised over the continually twitching rope as her unblinking eyes watched the edge. She opened her mouth to call once more when a hand broke out of the abyss to claw at the rocky above-ground. When the second hand peaked, she spotted the pistol in his death grip and swung her blade down through the rope. He faltered and cried out as the rope flowed under him but clung fast to the edge with his free hand. Sheathing her machete, she heard his boots madly scrape the smooth rock.

Moving towards the edge, she grabbed the wrist of his clinging hand and yanked him. When the pistol swung towards her head, she let go, grabbing instead the cold barrel with both hands, keeping the muzzle angled from her body. He slid back down into the chasm holding only the grip of his gun, which was held only by her. Her arm's blood vessels engorged with strain as she maintained the difficult position, shaking and red-faced. His face no longer held fear, only steely resolve.

"Grab my hand."

"I can't believe...foiled...by some bitch."

"Grab onto me, forget the gun."

His acid glare scarred her memory. He spit, with all his strength, up into her face. She flinched and his sweaty hand slipped down and off the gun. He screamed as he fell and she stared transfixed until he disappeared. She heard no landing, only ambient noise from the surrounding jungle.

Falling backwards and scrambling to safety, she leaned against the tree where the curtailed rope remained affixed. She saw her torso wave as breath ripped in and out of her. Tearing her gloves off, she flipped the hot gun over and over in her bare hands, watching its stainless steel gleam in the scorching tropical sun. _Smith & Wesson; Model 645. _She rose, stumbling forward to throw it but unable to let go. Instead, she brought it up to knock against her forehead repeatedly before hurling it against the tree where it went off, jolting her. Realizing his spit was still on her, she wiped furiously at her face, unable to tell what was his and what was her sweat. She found herself screaming words into the abyss.

"You idiot. You worthless idiot. I can't believe I even tried. You wouldn't even help yourself. You-"

Her watch beeped a four note tune, as a man's face loaded on its small screen.

"Kim, you- gee what happened to you?"

The patency of her hysteria only infuriated her further. "I don't want to talk about it Wade. I got the stupid idol, I dealt with the thieves, I just need a ride out of this godforsaken jungle."

"Oh, um, alright." A mechanical keyboard clacked away. "Twelve hundred yards north is a clearing, enough for Dimitris to bring his helicopter down. Those tribesmen will be glad you retrieved th-"

She cut off the transmission and swiped open a topographical map and compass on the screen. A glint in the grass at the base of the tree sent her into a spiral of contemplation. Eventually retrieving the gun and setting its safety, she jammed it in her sack, which she reset on her back, before beginning the long hot trek north.


	2. Keep The Tension On

**"Beware the rotting wind of complacency,**  
**That loves to suck you in till you're history.**  
**You can't afford the price of a fatal slip.**  
**You better learn to dance to the master's whip."**

Up out of the Tekka Valley, her ride was already at the landing zone when Kim arrived. However, the Little Bird helicopter was turned off and Dimitris leaned against the nose, watching the jungle opposite her approach.

"Kim Possible," He said, turning and balancing along the skids when he heard her boots swipe through the heavy grass, "Good to see you safe. You recovered the Tekka Tiger from those thieving troublemakers?"

"Yeah, see for yourself." Kim said, drawing the idol from her sack and handing it off to him as she swept by towards the other door, "Why isn't the copter going? I need you ready and alert in the LZ."

"Ah but Wade informed me there was no longer danger," He said, holding the jade statue up in the sun to inspect it, "It's certainly a remarkable artifact."

"I don't care what Wade said. This is where ambushes happen, understand?"

"Of course," He said, tucking the statue to his side and popping his door. "But to be in such a beautiful country, you are in a very ugly mood. We've prevented catastrophe and retrieved a priceless totem. What is, how would you put it, your sitch?"

"Save the catchphrase Dimitris. I don't have a sitch," She said, blocking the sun from her eyes as she looked across the helicopter's nose, "I just planned to be airborne by now."

"You rush too much. I thought you loved Indonesia. What about the time on Pulau Moyo? With the birds at the waterfall?"

"No, I don't-"

"Ah, you remember more than you let on." He said, pointing and grinning cheekily as he stood on the threshold of the chopper door.

"Listen, lay off. Get us to the air strip. You're my air transport, not my recreational guide," Kim said, waving her hands through the insects swarming her. "And don't tell me how to do my job. Who's name is on the wing?"

"Kim, please don't think I am too advancing, or going against your wishes. It is only friendly advice. I just prefer your smiling over glowering." Dimitris said, closing himself and the statue into the pilot's seat.

"Glowering? Who's glowering" She caught herself in the helicopter window, bruised brow furrowed, face dirty, mouth grimaced. Had she always had these many lines? Just stress Kim, they'll smooth out, no big. Once you're out of here... home?

The helicopter spun to life to break her out of the jungle and resonate her thoughts

* * *

Kim watched the glittering blue expanse and wraith-like clouds out the window of her private aircraft as it glided over the Pacific, bound for America. She momentarily glanced at the cockpit door, rethinking how she'd treated her longest running employee earlier. Seven years and she never regretted recruiting him; it was difficult enough finding experienced pilots who accepted the hours and demands, let alone someone with such steely optimism. He'd always been sweet, but she didn't think bittersweet a good combination. Not right now.

The gun sat unloaded and inert on her table. It weighed down a short stack of folders detailing current missions. They were mostly long term investigations that Wade brought to her attention. Saving the world was originally a teenage fancy, not her career choice. All for that rush, huh Kim? Not the feeling from the risks or rewards, but from her aid. No job helps people quite like hers.

Lately it was less about helping people in need and more about helping objects in need though.

She sipped a club soda with lemon, considering breaking her teetotalism but refraining. Choosing once again to ignore the open folder propped in her lap, she picked up the gun and swung it between her fingers in front of her face. She could see his smudged fingerprints trailing dirt down the grip to the magazine. She could still see his face falling away. He accepted the hours and demands too.

Her watch rang and she placed the automatic back down to answer. Wade appeared.

"Shoot Wade." She glanced at the gun self-consciously.

"I just got word of a heist gone wrong."

"What got stolen, who got hurt?"

"School records, a nighttime janitor was killed."

"Gruesome, but small-time. I don't mean to sound insensitive but can we slot it behind that cultist brainwashing in southern Mongolia?" She pulled the corresponding folder up from her lap and waved it.

"These aren't just any records Kim, they stole the permanent record of every Middleton student since 2000. You're in there."

"Middleton? Killing for twenty five years of school records? Why such a swath?"

"You know the deal. There's always a reason and a culprit," Wade said, shrugging pensively, "Plus, that window of time is wide enough to throw people off their tracks. I'll do what I can from here but I think you should take a look yourself, if you're up to it."

"Roger Wade. I'm on it."

"Seriously Kim, are you OK? With the-"

"Yes, I'm fine, no problem. This is just what I needed."

"What?"

"I meant," She said, backtracking, "This will help me take my mind off before."

"What about before?"

"Wade, I'm fine."

"You always do this-"

Kim clicked her watch off and threw the folder back on the pile, covering the gun. She pulled the mouthpiece down from her overhead console.

"Change of destination Dimitris, we're headed for Middleton, PA. estimated ETA? Over."

"_Middleton? It will be one a.m. at the earliest. Over."_

"Roger. Emergency communications until we land please. Over."

Hanging up the mouthpiece, Kim laid her head into the seat and pulled her hands down her face, keeping her eyes closed as she heaved a sigh. Reaching across the files, brushing the top one off its precarious perch and uncovering the steel reminder again, Kim pulled her drawstring bag into her lap. Drawing her combat boots up onto the table, she rummaged through her sack to procure an orange pill bottle, uncapping and counting two to take, following them with club soda until the lemon touched her lip.


	3. The Diamond Sea

"**Look into his eyes and you will see,  
****That men are not alone on the diamond sea.  
****Sail into the heart of the lonely storm,  
****And tell her that you'll love her eternally."**

Cloaked in the night, a dark Plymouth rumbled up the hilly boulevard towards the school. Flashing red and blue glowed behind the horizon before the final hill was crested, revealing Middleton High School, surrounded by yellow tape, a black coroner's van, a white forensics van, and three squad cars with their doors open and officers gathered around conversing. The Plymouth rolled to a stop against the curb, getting looks from the officers. A couple of them motioned and nudged each-other, pointing and grinning. One officer, a corpulent mustached fellow away on his own, wandered under the tape and tapped on the driver's window. It cranked down.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard someone got blasted Ted, thought I'd see what I can do."

"Is that so? You must be hearing things, Stoppable."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"No I mean... look, we really have it all handled here."

"You got who did it already?"

"We have leads to follow up."

"Come on, this is my school, my hometown. Just let me take a look around."

"Don't you have better things to do than hang around and double-check our work?"

"You'd think so, but no, not tonight," Ron said, crossing his arms triumphantly, "Tonight, I've got nothing but time."

Ted glanced and then pointed down the road.

"Alright, but don't get in anyone's way and park down there. And on the off-chance you find anything, let us handle it."

"Man, you guys never let me handle evidence."

"We've got a good reason for that. Remember the Cow & Chow shootout?"

"Look, that was bad, but come on. How was I supposed to tell which splatter was blood and which was ketchup?"

"Certainly not by taste. Our medical examiner still calls you the 'Licky-loo'. Hurry up, we're going to wrap up soon."

"Thanks Ted."

Parking in the overflow lot, Ron locked up, buttoned his coat, and walked onto the scene. Making his way to the door, a group of officers followed his movements with mocking eyes. Ron watched them right back, mishandling the door before breaking his stare in order to enter.

All the lights were off, except for a subtle glow at the end of the main hallway. Ron's footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he walked with his head turned to the wall, watching the faces of graduates before and after him pass. She was there, even though he didn't spot her. He didn't necessarily want to. Although he walked slower, he did not linger. The school was much the same as it always had been - stuck in time - and it reminded him that he was not, to his disappointment.

Ron entered through the lit doorway into the file room. To his immediate right splayed an alarming red splatter surrounding a crater in the near wall. He didn't need to taste this one. It looked like a plasma round, rifle caliber. Nothing hit quite that hard. A bent chalk outline lay at the base of the wall. Whoever hit him was well supplied and not afraid to share. He estimated that single round cost a little over a thousand dollars, not to mention what fired it.

Ron expected empty file cabinets but what he saw were the dust outline around and untouched carpet beneath missing file cabinets. Many of the room's cabinets remained in their spots though, from the turn of the millenium back to the nineteen fifties. After scribbling dates and rough observations, Ron reached into his coat pocket and retrieved Rufus, who yawned awake.

"Hey buddy, see what you can pick up for scent and fibers."

Rufus cowered in fright at the grisly sight, but composed himself and complied, scampering around the room, sniffing and searching. Ron checked down the hall but as Ted had stated, the police already canvassed and photographed what they needed to, so the coast was clear for Rufus' search. All that was left was clean up.

"What did you find?" Rufus scampered up Ron to deliver a blonde strand into his palm. Pulling a baggie from his other pocket, Ron sealed the hair inside.

"Well, they can't miss what they never had. How about smells Rufus, anything strange?" The naked mole rat shook his head and yawned once more. The older he got, the more he slept.

"Hard day's night, huh? Take a good rest." He pocketed the baggie and Rufus, heading into the hall where he collided with one of two officers.

"Woah Stoppable, what's your damage?" He jeered, holding his hands up with a phone in one, "You didn't get the taste for blood again, did you?"

"Don't worry Tomkins, I bet he couldn't even find any in there. Too busy playing with his rat and doodling in that ancient pad. Who still uses pencils?"

"I found everything just fine, thank you very much." Ron said, hiding his notebook in his inner pocket.

"Hey, speaking of just fine, I saw an old photo of your ex in the hall," The other cop said, whistling lecherously, "What a smoke show, makes me want to see a then and now. I'm probably wasting my time but, you don't still have her number, do you?" He nudged Ron just south of where Rufus lay.

"No, but hit her site up," Ron said, side-stepping them, "She could probably rescue your dignity."

"Hey O'Neil, don't pay this clown any mind," Tomkins said, "He hasn't hit her site up since college, if ever."

"Who knows? What was that motto of hers? She'll do anything?" O'Neil said, sticking his tongue into his cheek. Laughing to themselves, the pair moved into the file room, beyond Ron's weak-spirited retort.

"She _can _do anything," Ron said, then more to himself, "Doesn't mean she will."

They did not respond. Ron walked the dark hall back to the main entrance slowly, seething, this time scanning the wall thoroughly for the photo Tomkins had mentioned, with no result.

* * *

Bueno Nacho was closed now, after eleven, and besides, Ron was not in the mood for spicy food and Ameri-Mexican restaurant jubilation. He was in the mood for numbing drink, and a meet-up with his recently acquainted informant. The Diamond Sea had both of those and not much else.

Ron pushed the door open fretfully to a quieter pub, dark velveteen red and wood-laden with Talking Heads "Heaven" playing over the sound-system, like it always did. In the far back stool sat Squeegee with his maroon fur coat and floppy hat. Ever since Ned moved to Washington and Harold was in that water-skiing accident, Squeegee took over as Ron's prolific purveyor of local street knowledge.

"Hey Ronman, you need a drink." Ron mounted the stool next to Squeegee and held his head up.

"You read my mind Squeegee. Barkeep, one gimlet, more gim than let." The bartender rolled his eyes and got to work.

"You know what else you need?" Squeegee pulled his sunglasses down and quickly up again, flashing rings of questionable gold content. "Information."

"Hey, two for two," Ron said, visibly cheering, "I actually needed som-"

"Woah, pleasure before business, my man," Squeegee said, procuring an ink stamp from his pocket and pressing it at the back of Ron's hand, "This stamp is an exclusive invitation to my show, two nights from tonight at Warehouse Nine by the waterfront. Bumpin' soundsystem, turntable stacks. I got brothers who can hook you up with what you need: good kush, the finest ladies you've ever seen. And preforming live, songs from his upcoming and highly acclaimed album - at least by local music aficionados - The Drea-"

"Yeah, cool, I'll check my calender," Ron said, rubbing at the already dried stamp, "Look, Squeegee, I'm looking for some information,"

"Easy, easy. I'm pulling the handbrake right here Ronman. You know what I need first?" Squeegee coughed and rubbed his finger and thumb together. Ron's drink was delivered on a red coaster and the bartender mirrored a refined version of Squeegee's gesture.

"Yeah that's uh, outside my wheelhouse right now." The bartender narrowed his eyes and took back the cocktail so Ron reached for thin air.

"You know me. You know I'm a fair guy, I give credit and everything." Squeegee said, crossing his arms. "But you are at the end of your rope, and rope doesn't grow on trees."

"No, you're right, I think, but, well, look, I just need to know if you've seen any new faces around. There was this thing at the school-"

"What you're asking for has a cost. If not-" Squeegee once again coughed and rubbed his finger and thumb together, "-then I might have some work for you."

"Yeah I can do work," Ron said, stroking his trivial week-old stubble chin, "What kind of work?"

"Well there's this guy a little behind on his 'taxes'. He's a nomadic fellow, a light traveler, not one to habituate a permanent residence frequently enough to warrant a legally binding lease agreement. You dig?

"Um, like a squatter?"

"Please, let's keep this conversation civil Ronman. I provide an information service and I require certain taxation to maintain said service. This particular man owes me a crisp Franklin for similar services previously rendered unto him. You get that from him, and I'll sing you all the new faces I've seen in the last month."

"Oh you don't have to sing anything, just tell me their names. Or even write them down if they're hard to pronounce. I'll remember better that way." Ron said, suddenly freezing, "You still use pencils, right?"

"Sure, who doesn't? That's why I like you Ronman - you're a thinker." From his inside pocket, Squeegee pulled a folded paper scrap and transfered it with a handshake. "This is the address he is temporarily subletting under a non-contractual verbal accord that assumes but doesn't necessarily imply the landowner's consent. You dig?"

"Er, let's pretend I don't understand what any of that means."

"Hey, relax. It's all just legalese in case any lawyer-types happen to have an ear tuned. Can't let anyone think my operation is illegitimate."

"Gotcha." Ron unfolded the paper and his eyes flashed wide. "This is the place?"

"Guaranteed. You're looking for one Francis Lurman. Godspeed."

With that, Squeegee dismounted his stool, tipped his floppy hat, and swaggered into the men's room.


	4. It Never Changes To Stop

"**Sit up straight in your seat,  
****And I do not want any more talking,  
A****ny more moving about, at all.  
****Absolutely still, absolutely quiet.  
****Look up here. Look up here!  
****Let me have your undivided attention."**

The school's interior lay bathed in desolate shadow, brightened only by hellish glowing exit signs and cool moonlight through the skylight over the gym. Momentarily, there was a magenta glow before a quick hand snatched a falling circle of glass from mid-air, pulling it back up through the newly lasered hole. Silently, a rope snaked down and Kim descended, clad in a dark purple suit and toque so that only her eyes stood out in the dim light. She landed and switched on her watch light, brandishing it around the gymnasium. Although it was deserted right now, her memories made it all too easy to transport back to her homecoming dance. She cleared the ethereal balloons and soft spot lighting from her empirical vision then double checked her first sweep. Satisfied, she returned to darkness and hastened without sound towards the exit, the door clicking behind her.

In the hallway, watching the ancient CCTV camera rotate, Kim picked her time and stepped without haste beyond its sight. Moving along the wall, she swung around a corner and came face to face with Steve Barkin. His portrait, that is, mounted on the wall in an alcove that held a picture of each faculty member. Steve's greying hair and stern stare was central, a brass placard underneath read "Principal Steve Barkin". Kim welled up with an odd pride of his achievement, assured he had worked with utmost dedication for and in the position. To her, hard work deserved as much praise as could be mustered. She scanned the display for other familiar faces but there were none.

Pussyfooting down the corridor, Kim arrived at the records room, finding the door locked and crossed with crime scene tape. Crouching, she pulled from her utility belt her electronic master key and inserted it into the lock. Upon clicking the button, it cycled through the pins and withdrew with a successful green light. She swapped the key for her watchlight and entered.

What a crater...energy munition aimed at the torso...places the shooter here, obviously caught off guard searching through whichever cabinet was here...extrapolate the filing system, I estimate...mid to late two thousands; hard to be certain. They took this whole section. Knew it would be physical copies, not digital.. Likely disguised; this place is empty in the summer...No cameras between here and the north exit, simple as backing a van up and loading them from here by dolly... I forgot, should have used that entrance, I'll check on my way out... this is cleaner than I expected.

Tapping her light off and scrolling on the auto-dimmed display of her watch, Kim pulled up a UV reader. Directing its beam of light, she scanned from the door to her suspected point of the shooter. The scan revealed the presence of thirty five different shoe-prints, two different rodent prints, and five different wheeled tracks, each separated into their own profile. Frowning at the sample size, Kim saved the results and redirected the UV reader scan over a set of cabinets that ran the length of the room, to the left of the door upon entering. Watching through the screen, she noticed a bright anomaly halfway, stopping to zoom and enhance. On the front face of the counter was a square mark with smudged lettering inside. She mirrored and sharpened it, revealing the letters "TDS". She swiped over to a video call with Wade.

"Wade, I need all the businesses in the Tri-City area that identify with the acronym 'TDS' and 'TOS'."

Not even drawing his attention away from a separate screen, Wade typed nonchalantly before looking through the camera at her.

"There's five for 'TDS', one for 'TOS'. Tillman Drilling Services, TDS Telecom, Thomas Dillberg Samson LLP, The Diamond Sea, Turnkey Divisional Structuring, and Tri-City Oxygen Supplier."

"Perfect. The Diamond Sea is a nightclub?"

"A bar really, around Oak Street and 56th."

"Uh, last time I was here Middleton ended on 50th, by the industrial park.

"Right, forgot. I sent you GPS coordinates."

"I'll trade you. I have some print profiles I got from the scene. Take a look and see if anything sticks out besides my boots and standard issue Middleton Police Department boots."

"You got it. I take it you have some leads?"

"Natch. With a little luck I'll have this wrapped up by sunrise."

"Good luck. I leave you to-"

"Hold on, help me identify what left this."

Swiping back to her UV reader, Kim crouched down in front of the crater and directed her beam inside and around. Wade patched in and received a feed of information from Kim's watch sensor.

"That's definitely from a plasma round," He said, typing away attentively now, "And a fancy one at that. Ever heard of an Amerilli Tachyon?

Kim faked a look of recollection.

"It's a cutting edge plasma rifle barely out of development. These aren't mass-produced like some of the other ones around, they're one-offs.

"How can you tell what rifle it is? Isn't all plasma the same?"

"Kim." Wade gave a smug smirk, "Every weapon has a signature shot pattern. Whether it's firing a lead slug or a supercharged ionized energy bolt. You just have to know what to look for."

"Sure, I'll take you word. So if they're custom-made, they should be easy to track, right?"

"Wrong, I don't even know who developed them, let alone manufactures them. I don't even have a photo. All I have is a prototypic ballistics report that matches the distinct scorch pattern you have there and some basic specifications. I'll do some digging but I wouldn't hold out hope."

"Not what I wanted to hear, but I'll see what my other lead turns up."

"Oh, one last thing Kim. I ran a background check on the janitor, Herbert Murphy. No flagged associations of a criminal, political, international or commercial nature. Seems like a regular guy just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

For the first time, in the dim UV light, Kim really noticed the dark brown blood stain, on the wall, in the carpet, pooled and dried on the top of the baseboard. She brushed a gloved finger over the long dried surface.

"Kim, you still there?"

She withdrew her hand so the watch faced her again.

"Yeah, sorry. I, well...I better go check that place."

She clicked off the video call and the UV light before standing up and leaving the room exactly as she found it.


	5. Thirteen

"**Won't you let me walk you home from school?  
****Won't you let me meet you at the pool?  
****Maybe Friday I can  
****Get tickets for the dance  
****And I'll take you."**

Kim on her yellow Kawasaki sport bike, winding through Middleton's late night suburban landscape.

Street lights flash over and brighten her rhythmically; nighttime catches and envelops her on offbeats.

Bueno Nacho's sombrero, dark and closed – across from the commercial high rises, bright and closed.

One of a kind franchise, developed all over the world but never duplicated. Just like them.

Reminds her of past circumstances, opportunities, choices, consequences, in that order.

Breathe in happy memories and exhale them back to from where they came. That was then and this is now.

You wouldn't be here, how you are, if you had acquiesced to the fate that lay before you before now.

No, you _would_ be here, there's no telling how different it might have been, how different it is now.

Our happy endings bite their tongues tripping up the stairs scrambling for the top. There's a long way to fall.

You might have glided down the hand rail, he might have fallen off the roof.

No matter how you became grounded again, you live with the belief that it was necessary.

Reading the same old ending becomes a chore

Although what if the new one is evermore?


	6. Immature

"**How could I be so immature?  
****To think he could replace,  
****The missing elements in me.  
****How extremely lazy of me."**

Slowing into the empty side lot of The Diamond Sea, Kim parked and popped her black full-face helmet off, hooking it to the bike as she shook her hair out. From her bag, she pulled a long draping coat out and donned it, belting it with a knot. Mission clothes did not scream 'give me information'. Looking in her compact, she touched up her lipstick before running her finger over a line beside her eye. She pulled it taunt and released it, her mouth twisting when it returned. She snapped her compact and strutted through the door and straight to a stool at the counter. The bartender faced away from her, marking bottles despite being the only staff member in sight.

"Last call was ten minutes ago," He said, turning around and tensing, "But I can make an exception for you, Miss."

"That's so sweet," She said, widening her eyes and angling them through her lashes, "I'd love a Manhattan,"

"Certainly."

She rolled her fingers on a ten dollar bill until her drink arrived, then fingered the stem of the glass, bouncing the cherry around in the cocktail.

"Do I know you from somewhere? You look very familiar."

"Oh, I get that a lot," She said, waving it off and segueing purposefully, "Say, do you do dances here?"

"No, but there's a jukebox over there, and I do a mean gavotte." The bartender bounced his eyelids at her, leading Kim to focus her approach. She giggled behind her hand and flipped the hair away from her face.

"It's just, well, I met someone with your stamp on their hand, and I thought you might host events here."

"My stamp?"

"A TDS stamp? She said it was The Diamond Sea."

"I'm sorry Miss, we don't give out stamps," He said, before his mild brow scrunched with a mixture of deduction and displeasure, "Your friend may have got it from him though,"

Kim rotated her head to where the bartender subtlety pointed out an embellished, toadish man in the corner. Although the glance was brief, he took it as an invitation and slinked over, glass in hand, to the stool adjacent her.

"Now what's an eye-catching fox like you doing in a pine box like this?"

"I believe the young miss is looking for one of your stamps, Squeegee," Said the bartender, wiping his hands and stowing his towel before addressing Kim directly, "Excuse me, I'll put on some music more suited to dancing." Kim returned a forced grin that faltered quickly.

"Is she?" Squeegee said, his eyes roaming shamelessly behind his sunglasses from his crooked posture, glass against his head and elbow against the bar.

"Depends on the stamp." Asked Kim, regarding him sidelong, the right side of her skin formicating.

With effort, Squeegee procured a square stamp from his coat pocket, waving it in front of him. Talking Heads stopped mid-song and left an eerie silence in the empty bar.

"This here is an exclusive invitation, two nights from tonight, Warehouse Nine," Squeegee said, pausing to either mentally retrace what he just said or count the days, "At the docks. Live, never performed, I will be performing-"

"What's on the stamp?"

"The stamp? Are you a cop?" Squeegee asked,

"Excuse me?"

At the jukebox, the bartender traced through the selections, taking great pains to select the right song, hemming and hawing to himself.

"You come in here, asking all sorts of questions," Squeegee said, "I'm an artist. And a legitimate business owner. An operator. You don't have any right-"

"I'm not a cop," Kim said, "I just want to know what your stamp says."

"I'm sorry Red. I didn't mean that. It's just, I don't think people take me seriously."

Talking Head's "Heaven" began again. Kim took a very deep breath and began tapping at her watch.

"-I'm an artist, but no one ever really listens, you dig? They just want -"

"Well Miss, it turns out this is the most suitable song for dancing we have."

"Is this your stamp?" Kim said, holding her watch out in Squeegee's face. He stood up abruptly, wavering, lowering his glasses and squinting.

"That is, without a doubt, the trademarked logo of The Original Squeegee.

"How many people have you given these out to in the past couple days?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty red head, the spot will be packed to the rafters and bumpin' just as high."

"So you just give these to anyone?"

"I am a very selective promoter of my own merchandise. I don't stamp just any ole tramp."

"Really?" The bartender spoke up from his silent glass drying, "What about that guy you were in here with last night? He was a literal tramp, wouldn't even pay his bill. He pulled on me when I-"

"He happens to be a close friend of mine, so you'd best keep your trap snapped," Squeegee said, standing on the stool rungs to lean over the bar.

"Close friend my ass, he's one of your vagabond 'renters' that show up here once in a blue moon when they need some place to crash."

"Yeah, and I gave him that big ass Frank Lloyd Wright mo'fo up on Van Dam Road." Kim's eyes widened. "That's a classy place, only my favorite clientèle get that pad."

"You're full of hot air Squeegee, the only real friend you got is that goofy PI who drops by- Hey, Miss, are you leaving so soon? Please excuse us, finish your drink."

"Tomorrow night Red, ten o'clock. If you're early don't be afraid to kick it back stage."

Kim ran through the door and let it glide jerkily closed on the resumed dispute between the only two patrons.


	7. Things Behind The Sun

**"Please beware of them that stare,**  
** They'll only smile to see you while **  
** Your time away.**

**And once you've seen what they have been,**  
** To win the earth just won't seem worth**  
** Your night or your day."**

No roof on the flying car, sunburn central. Note for later: evil sunscreen. Like it'll make a difference with this complexion. That big sun reflecting off of all this water. What does yellow and blue make? Green. She goes where she wants, no different, as usual. I go where I try to mean. Right now, it's my new lair with new flair.

Skimming along tropical waters, Dr. Drakken's hovercraft approached shoreline, jerking against the limestone cliffs. The island bloomed with South Pacific flora, and overhanging palm fronds battered the front as he kept skirting the edge, finally finding the littoral cavern he was searching for.

"Damn GPS gizmos always redacting its previous- oh, the ship's in!"

Steering the craft into the watery cave, Drakken taxied beside the larger vessel, bringing his hovercraft towards the concrete docks that ran around the natural walls of the cavern. Henchmen were running barrels on dollies and crates on floor-jacks off the ship and down the docks into the steel brimmed hole at the end of the quay. Warning symbols for flammability and explosiveness plastered the cargo.

Paying little heed to his workers, Drakken tethered his craft and moved into the bowels of his lair. Past the loading zone, through the security door, Drakken took the glass lift down. At first only rock could be seen, but the wall soon broke away and revealed a two hundred metre tall space inside the earth, with scaffolding and a clearly designated pad on the ground. Even the layman could deduce it was a rocket test-site. As the lift descended further, the ceiling opening could be seen, a huge closed steel spiral door. Drakken grinned with enthusiasm, cackling as he heard the ding, and stepping out of the opening doors to come face to face with a surly Shego.

"Where were you?" She asked through her hostile scowl.

"Texas," Drakken replied cheekily.

"Don't give me that," She said, flailing a handful of papers at him, "I've been signing off on cargo all morning. Apparently you couldn't trust the henchmen with such an idiotic task."

"Precisely Shego," Drakken said, sidestepping her, to which she mirrored and he frowned, "Let me by."

"Oh no. I was woken up at seven. Seven!" She said, pushing the papers further into his face, "I demand to know why I had to handle this. What's with all the 'danger' boxes?"

"Pfoo, all in due time." Drakken said, flapping his hand at the documents, "Now that our deliveries are in, and the information has been retrieved, we're ready for the next stage of our plan."

"What information?" Shego said, lowering the papers and rotating as he brushed past her towards the command center on the fall wall.

"This information." He said, holding up a thumbdrive triumphantly, and clicking the USB out anticlimactically.

"Oh, I forgot it's impossible for you to give me a straight answer," Shego said, stalking after him, "And what's on your little thumbdrive that was so important you had to go out on a special trip?"

"First, a personal question." Drakken said, spinning around at the control room door, "What are your thoughts on children?"

Shego blanched. "What?"

"Let me rephrase that," Drakken said, tapping his chin, "Do you regret not having a child?"

"Treading dangerous waters Dr. D."

"Please play along. This will all make sense very soon."

"It's a dumb question and we've discussed it already. Kids are satan spawn." She said, shrugging aggressively, "Why do you think the world is such a cesspool? All those kids have to go somewhere."

"But you don't feel unfulfilled? Even a little?"

"Oi, fine, drag it out of me. I have occasional small stirrings. Very occasional. Very small." Shego said, pinching the size and then thinking inwardly, uncomfortably, "Sometimes there's a nice commercial or I see a mother and son at the beach and - what am I saying. I don't want a kid. Having a kid won't fulfill me."

"So you aren't fulfilled?"

"No money, no power, no certainties; no Drew, I'm pretty unfulfilled."

"Well then allow me to offer you a chance at personal fulfillment." Drakken said, pressing his palm to open the control room. "Made entirely possible by one child."

"Ok, this I have to hear."

"It's all part of my latest scheme. I recently outfitted an associated company with merchandise in return for recovering some information crucial to my operations," Drakken said, plopping down into the first computer chair and powering up the system, "The man in charge liked my merchandise so much I offloaded the whole shipment on him."

"Are you talking about those rifles?" Shego said, dropping the papers on the control panel and crossing her arms, "You gave them away?"

"Not gave, offloaded. Very different." Drakken said, logging in and sticking in the thumbdrive, "Besides, we had no need for them or their value with those Super HiPollinator cheques rolling in. Plus, it can be so hard to find a reliable fence for stolen prototype weapons."

"You gave them away?" She asked, slowly becoming more livid, "Do you know what I had to go through to steal those, and you _gave them away_?"

"Enough," Drakken said, clicking away, "What we got in return is a chance at something much more... evil."

On the screen, two nearly identical dossiers maximized to each half. Brown haired middle-school children with jocular smirks shifted to a whole score of data when Drakken scrolled the wheel.

"Kids?" Shego said, leaning over his right shoulder as if she had to touch the screen with her nose. Drakken reflexively squirmed beneath her but she quickly straightened to continue her tirade, "This was the big reveal? You traded all those rifles for information on some damn snot-nosed kids?"

"You don't understand, Shego," Drakken said, "This information is almost twenty years old. These are fully-fledged adults now, with careers and responsibilities and top secret authorization."

"Those rifles were worth millions. Each." Shego said, pacing the room, fingers clenched and humming the slightest green, "And you traded it for outdated information- Are you insane?"

"These kids are the key, Shego." Draken said, "You hate kids-"

"I do not hate kids."

"-because you don't understand the vast undercurrent of potential they wield. Time is the great equivocator. These snot-nosed brats of yesteryear grow up and become-"

Drakken typed and clicked and Shego stopped her pacing.

"With access to-"

Another click and she moved like a magnet towards the screen. Drakken clicked once more back to the dossiers.

"And that last name is just the icing on the cake."

Shego grinned maliciously, leaned over once again. This time the two remained still, tethered together by their whispering touch.


	8. Love and Anger

"**Take away the love and the anger,  
****And a little piece of hope holding us together.  
****Looking for a moment that'll never happen,  
****Living in the gap between past and future.****"**

As Kim crested the hill of Van Dam Road, her headlight swept a familiar house perched at the top. Its sprawling yard provided a breadth of space between its next door neighbors. A decade ago it had been rebuilt, prized then as the Possible family nucleus, before Jim and Tim left for college and beyond, before Nana passed, before James Possible pioneered moon colonization and Ann joined him. Before Kim found herself too busy to return. Now, it was a bank holding, last her parents had said, sold to finance the lunar campaign. Her parents had offered it on her thirtieth, but even the thought of settling down coiled her stomach. Truth be told, Kim had no use for a family home, not when there was always a mission and her jet to deliver her. It didn't feel like home anymore, but no other place had usurped that feeling either.

Pulling into the eerie driveway, Kim shut off her bike and lost the headlight. A bright moon spilled over the house, pouring shadow off every jutting edge. Hiding in these particularly dark spots, she rounded the perimeter, noticing every first floor window boarded up, weeds teeming from the foundation, and an inactive electric meter. Emerging from under the pier foundation, where the house stuck out over the slope of the hill, she moved past the plywood windows to beside the front door. Kim froze, noticing the latch bolt resting against the strike plate, the door cracked ajar.

Readying her fists, Kim pulled the door, flowed around it, and brought it back to rest in one fluid motion, feeling herself along the pitch black wall to the next interior door. A quick scan with her flashlight showed no-one in the garage, although a stale mattress and empty liquor bottles sat in one corner. She caressed the grip of her grappling gun but kept it holstered, treading lightly into the kitchen. As she scanned the room with her light she heard a sound, but once she froze, she couldn't tell from where. The hallway was clear so she moved down it to the bathroom, also empty, past to the end closets, empty, through to the living room, empty, and finally up the stairs.

Kim's old bedroom loft door creaked as she unsettled it, spilling a dull light on her that reacted to the sound by disappearing. Kim froze, holding the weight steady, listening past the whine of silence and minor tinnitus, to nothing but – footsteps, quickly shuffling away. She threw the door up with a mighty crash and drew her flashlight and grappling gun.

"Freeze interloper!"

Yelping and covering his face at the light, the man in the room hurled himself through one of the floor to ceiling windows, rolling down the garage roof and landing with a thud on the concrete. Kim followed the fleeing suspect, first with her flashlight, then out the window once she noticed him making a beeline to a parked car across the street.

"Freeze interloper? Jeez, no wonder he jumped..." She said to herself, dropping down from the roof and mounting her nearby bike. Flipping her helmet on and twisting the key, she wrung the throttle and pulled the bike into a squealing spin around her planted foot, rocketing forward down and out the driveway once her back tire regained traction. The suspect wasn't far ahead and she had a good line of sight from the hilltop vantage. Her pursuee turned left, racing down the road headed for the lakeside. Kim resisted the urge to cut across the slick grass hill and followed the pavement down and around, jacket fluttering behind her.

On the straight-away, throttle wide open and body leaned down against the tank, Kim gained easily on the car, an old black sedan. Pulling up to its passenger side, she felt its driver swerve towards her, trying to push her off the road. Braking accordingly, Kim pulled back one car length. Her headlights flashed off the guard rail posts to her right which separated the road from Middleton Lake, sparkling in the moonlight.

With her right hand holding the throttle steady, she plunged her left hand into her inside jacket pocket, pulling out two gold rings and donning them carefully on each hand. Edging closer to the car, she drew, again with her left hand, her grappling gun.

"Kim, don't take this the wrong way, but you're getting too old for this shit," Carefully aiming, time moving slowly at eighty miles per hour, she fired, hook shattering the back window and digging into the front bench seat. The car began to swerve from one side of the road to the other at the onslaught. Holding her gun in her left hand and kicking the bike down into neutral, she bounced up and crouched on the seat before leaping off and clicking the return line button, sailing through the air behind the car.

From the driver's perspective, his pursuer had disappeared behind the car, her bike toppling before skidding on its side into the guard rail. Still leery, the driver slowed and evened out, scanning his mirrors like a hawk. To his right, a claw continued tearing into the vinyl and seat springs, and the line that followed out the window and over the edge of the trunk remained taunt. Approaching an intersection, he careened right, following the lake edge still, losing a hubcap against the curb. The line slackened noticeably and he watched his mirrors.

A black helmet slowly peered around his driver's side rear fender, like the car's own bulbous growth. In the dark, through his single tiny round side mirror, while keeping the car roaring straight down the boulevard, he watched the figure pull itself along the side of the body, feet at the bumper and hands stretching already to the back door handle. Reaching into his pocket, he knew he must act quickly.

"Hey, Rufus, wake up buddy," Ron whispered into his hand, "I need you to steer." Mashing the cruise control, Ron slid over the bench seat and plopped prone into the back. He peered up over the windowsill and came face to face with the menacing black dome. Screaming, he yanked the door handle, flinging the door open to flail wildly, its stowaway still latched on, legs dangling behind, battered by the pavement. The car careened into the oncoming lane and further, the figure and door scraping along a barrage of lampposts. As quickly as before, it swerved back again, pulling the door shut and the figure back against the car body.

"Hold it steady, Rufus," Ron cried, as the black helmet popped up into the window again and hammered a flat gloved hand on the glass. Scanning the floor wildly, Ron pulled a tire iron from under the seat, uprooting a musty Bueno Nacho bag. He drew back and swung it through the glass, which cascaded over the figure. Ron swung again, arm catching the sharp window remains and retreating in pain. Before he could defend further, the door popped open again, this time the figure dragging itself into the car. Ron kicked at the intruder, who deftly snatched and demobilized his legs. He swung the tire iron hard against the side of the helmet, knocking their head against the seat.

"Ron, stop-," The figure gave a muffled command before another swing of the tire iron interupted

"It knows my name," Ron screamed, flailing even more wildly. The tire iron was deflected away in the chaos, landing on the dashboard against the windshield. He flung himself over the seat to reach for his weapon but found himself caught, looking back to find a gloved hand gripping his belt. He kicked and reached with all his might before noticing an oncoming sign. No words, just a yellow diamond with a leftward bent black arrow. Then he saw the headlight bear down on a reflective guard rail.

"Rufus!" The mole rat stood on the seat, holding the bottom of the wheel blindly. Hearing the fear in Ron's voice, he scampered up to the top of the wheel and squealed, trying to run the wheel into rotation. Without power steering it was a fruitless endeavor.

Even the helmeted figure had to snap away from the road ahead, snatching Rufus in one hand and tugging hard at Ron's belt with the other. Ron wasn't budging though.

"Get off!"

The tugging maintained as Ron lost his grip on the seat, so he instead grabbed the free steering wheel. Being dragged away, he cranked hard to the left and the car skidded off the road, away from the guard rail, over a large corner lawn and across the road to the other side, where no guard rail impeded them, but a forested ravine loomed.

Yanked mightily, his hands slipped from the wheel and his belt failed, as all the occupants tumbled out of the open back door and rolled hard along the grassy knoll, moments before the ground gave out under the car. Sailing past the edge, it fell quickly, in a thundering crack of tree trunk and crunch of metal, before a bright explosion rumbled, glowing and fading out of sight.

The motorcyclist stood up, looking at the limp pair of slacks in their hand and freeing the naked mole rat. Rufus scampered to his partner, who lay holding his head in boxer shorts. The black helmeted figure loomed over him and he crossed his arms above him in a last resort.

"Gah, what do you want? Don't hurt me."

The figure struck a pose, their eye-roll obvious even through the opaque glass. Dropping the slacks into his lap, the figure removed its helmet and flung her hair out. There she stood, Kim Possible, her face a mixture of concern, exertion, and intensity.

"What were you doing in my house?"


	9. What's Happening?

"**I don't know w****ho you think you are,  
****I don't know w****hat you're doing here,  
****I don't know w****hat's going on here,  
****I don't know h****ow it's supposed to be."**

"Kim? Wha, how? Where? When-"

"Slow down Ron, before you cover all five."

"You—You could have told me it was you."

"This is my way of telling you." She grinned cheekily, "Besides, it's hard to keep a conversation with someone swinging a tire iron at you."

"I, kay, you're the one who grappled onto my car – my car!" He scrambled to the edge and saw a smoldering wreckage among a slew of broken tree limbs. "Aw man, she was my very first, so many weekends spent underneath the old girl."

"First off, ew. Second of all, tone down the car eulogy, and tell me what you were doing in my house?"

"First off, in case you forgot, that hasn't been your house in years. Second of all, why do you care so much?"

"I just caught someone squatting in my childhood home, chased and subdued him, saved him from a wreckage, and found out all along it was my ex-boyfriend so yeah, I'm a tad emotionally invested."

"You caught the squatter?" Ron asked, zipping his pants up.

"I, wha, you're the squatter Ron."

"No, I was looking for the squatter, he owes me money."

Kim's brow furrowed at the new revelation, as she tried to formulate a new plan.

"So you're some kind of loan shark?"

"What, no, actually he owes someone else money, and they asked that I-"

"So you're some kind of loan shark's lackey?"

"I think the term is 'independent debt collector' and no, this was just one job I owed him, he's actually my inform-"

"Look, while your financial dilemma is certainly interesting – and might I add predictable – I'm in the middle of something a little more important than who owes who what."

"Me too, Kim, someone stole a bunch of school records and killed a janitor so I-"

"Hold up, what does this have to do with you?"

"Why, you can call me Ron Stoppable, Private Investigator now, check the license," Ron said, feeling about his pockets unfruitfully, "OK, it's down there in the wreckage, but I'm still certified."

"Gee Ron, if you missed fumbling through missions so much, I'm sure I could have thrown a couple your way instead of seeing you quit your day job." The words had sounded more joking than cruel in Kim's head, but as they were spoke the line blurred.

"Uh, this _is _my day job."

"Right, so the loan sharking is just extracurricular"

"Debt collecting, and yes, I was trying to scrounge up a lead, but someone interrupted me."

"I could say the same thing." Sirens caught the edge of their awareness from streets away and Kim glanced around. More and more lights were flicking on in nearby houses.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not sticking around, I have stuff to do and don't want to have to explain this," Her watch read 4:50am, "To some late night patrol cop." Helmet under her arm, she hurried down the sidewalk, back the way the chase had come from.

"There's the Kim I know, leaving without explaining herself." She huffed silently at Ron's words, not turning around or slowing her pace. She heard his footsteps gain on her but did not hasten herself.

"Well at least I can leave," She defended, "Leave the past, leave this place, leave for bigger and better things."

"Yeah, I get it, when it comes to leaving, you're the maven," He said, pausing to either regain thoughts or breath, "And yet, here you are back again. Got tired of Guadalajara or Puerto Rico or wherever you've been?"

"Reading up on me, were you?" She said, catching his narrowing eyes with a sidelong glance, "I was in Indonesia, Ron, all over the Asian Pacific actually. I hope you write down your leads, cause that memory of yours..."

"Joke's on you, cause that's exactly what I do!" He waved a little notebook procured from his inner pocket and Kim smirked.

"So what have you got on that school theft?"

"I kno-– Hold on, that's what you're working too?" He said, putting it away again, "That means we have the same mission."

Kim chortled.

"So not Ron, I have a mission, you have a… Hardy Boys fixation? I think we're in different leagues."

"Belittle me all you want, but I might have some useful information and detective-like insight."

"Please, forget I asked. Keep your insight to yourself." Slowing to a stroll outside of the vicinity alongside the lake, Kim swiped open a video chat with Wade who replied groggily.

"Kim, we talked about early morning transmissions."

"You'll never guess who I just saved."

"Me from a good night's sleep?" Kim twisted her watch towards a damper Ron, who brightened at Wade's face.

"Is that Ron? Wow, I didn't expect a reunion."

"I know, right?" Ron exclaimed, "It's good to see-"

"Don't hold out hope, This was a chance encounter." She glared at Ron's cheeriness, "I need a list of squatters in Middleton."

"Seriously Kim? Where do you think I'm going to get that information? There's no search parameters, no documentation, nothing to differentiate on a body scan. At best I can get you a list of unoccupied homes in Middleton, then cross reference heat signatures, but that could take forever to canvas, not to mention it would constantly need to be updated."

"I don't need the lowdown, Wade, I just need tangible results."

"Has she always been this waspish?" Ron mused to Wade from the background. Kim squelched and elbowed the hovering man, who backed into darkness then returned to walking alongside, on the edge of the screen.

"Look, if you're looking for a squatter, I'm looking for a squatter too." Ron balanced his hands in front of him, "So maybe we can work together, temporarily, to achieve the same end."

"I'm not helping you collect some lame debt, I'm trying to find- Wade get me all you know about a man named... Squeegee."

"Squeegee?" Exclaimed Ron and Wade simultaneously.

"I know Squeegee, he's my main man," said Ron, "He's got his fingers on the pulse of this town and can get you information on any kind of cat you need."

"Oh God."

"There you go Kim," Wade motioned his head left, towards Ron, "Matches what my databases pull up on him. Petty criminal organizer, burgeoning rap artist, known informant. Probably knows a fair share of reprobates. And check this,"

Wade opened an image on Kim's watch of Squeegee's TDS logo and matched it to the smudged stamp recovered from the crime scene.

"Way ahead of you Wade, I found him at The Diamond Sea." She held up her own marked hand.

"Hey, nice ink Possible." Ron held up his own stamped hand and Kim's face dropped.

"This is impossible, it's like everyone has these stamps." Hearing a rumble, she looked up and noticed her bike, still running, on its side on the other-side of the guard rail. "See what you can do Wade, I have to go."

"What I can do? I can sleep. Call me tomorrow, we'll all figure something out."

He clicked off before Kim could correct his including Ron in this. Crouching, Kim put down her helmet, inspected the contents of her top case and lifted her bike up, tsking at the torn cowling and scratched crankcase. Kicking the kickstand, she reached down and picked up her gear selector, which lay severed on the ground.

"Great." She lamented, throwing it back down. Ron approached and for a second part of her feared he was going to make some sort of move, but he instead crouched down, one hand on the clutch, and the other tinkering down where the shifter broke off.

"Ron, quit messing with my–"

"There, it's in first gear now, so you can hobble wherever you need to go."

"Oh. That's...thanks." She mounted the bike, accidentally gripping his hand as she took over the clutch from him. He quickly withdrew from the contact as Kim hid her faint embarrassment underneath her helmet. She revved once and flipped the stand, but didn't take off. An awkward, silent stillness overtook them, only broken by the bike's ticking engine.

"You look like you could use a little less hobbling," Kim quipped, opening her face shield to talk.

"Well, I did fall out of a window...and a car...it's been a long day."

"If you need a ride..." She nodded back behind her. First pausing, and then hesitant, he mounted the foot pegs and sat behind her, trying to hold on under the fender but jerking away from the hot exhaust.

"Like this," She grabbed his hands and wrapped them around her torso, feeling him shiver uncomfortably. His apprehensiveness piqued her for reasons she couldn't clearly fathom. She was used to men and even women fawning over her, jumping at the chance for a similar opportunity, but why did Ron's reactions, surely revised because of their sullied history, irk her so? She thought she knew, but the answer was so simple she refused it consideration. Hoping to drown her frustration in the ride, she pulled away, but between her first gear restriction and the traumatized engine, the bike droned lethargically through the early morning, barely cracking forty miles per hour, handlebars wobbling rhythmically from the twisted front forks.

She sighed and left her shield open, so the cool air splashed over her face, watching the sun break the horizon of Middleton Lake.


	10. Per Un Amico

"**Do not ask me if one day will change.  
****Start doing something and change  
With you will change.**

**You escape and then you hide and you can not.  
You live your compromises and you can not.  
it's no longer time to dream, you must fight more, more, more,  
more, more, more..."**

The sport bike shuddered into a street side parking spot, less than a block from Bueno Nacho, facing a multi-story brick complex. Stalling accidentally, Ron hopped off as Kim dragged the lifeless motorcycle into a better position and dropped the kickstand. Ripping her helmet off, Kim shoved it on a handlebar and grabbed her sack from her top case before following Ron to the door. She didn't turn around when her black helmet cracked on the ground, but she did freeze and clench her fist when she heard the entire bike topple seconds later. Ron simultaneously held his laughter and the unlocked door, as Kim led them into a narrow foyer with mailboxes to her right and stairs in front of her.

"You know, you didn't have to walk me to the door."

"I, so not, it's just, I thought," Kim rattled.

"You look pretty exhausted yourself."

"Now you're just trying to fluster me."

"Look, I have a futon, if you just want to crash."

"But where will you sleep?"

"Uh, my bed Kim."

"Oh," She said, rubbing her forehead sheepishly, "Yeah, I guess that'll make do."

The pair dragged themselves up the stairs, all seven flights, until Ron pulled into an alcove and opened the door without a key.

"You leave your apartment unlocked?"

"Not so loud," He checked to make sure no neighbors heard before beckoning her in.

"Wow, some place."

"You like?"

"I'll withhold my judgment until I'm rested."

The loft was cramped, and the two had to squeeze in the foyer to close the door and remove their coats and shoes. It was dark and outdated, clad in Ron's eclectic tastes. Rufus emerged from Ron's pocket and scampered up the short hallway from the door to the living room, where Mexican blankets hung over the windows behind a tiny tube television, sun bleeding in from behind. Flicking the light on, Ron walked in and left to the kitchen, opening the fridge for bottled water, one of which he threw at Kim as she walked down the hall. It hit her arm and she glared at him.

"Thought you'd be thirsty."

"And the first order of business for every good host is to throw water at their guests."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't remember you being this priggish when we dated."

When she bent back up with her water, her glare intensified, zeroing in across the two seater breakfast nook, through the half-wall that separated the kitchen and hallway.

"_Is_ there a right way to take that? First waspish, now priggish, you're going to run out of mean-spirited rhymes."

"I'm just being honest." He said, before smirking away from her, "To be fair you always were sort of a Miss Priss."

"I am not a 'Miss Priss'. I'm just used to finer accommodations is all," She defended, drifting into the living room and fingering aside one of the window coverings, "Ones with natural light and even a view."

"Yeah, but do your finer accommodations have this?" He wandered in and clicked on his lava lamp which sat on the television, before flopping back into an old plaid Cogswell chair. Kim rolled her eyes humorlessly and sat on the edge of the futon behind her, legs together and bent to one side, jamming her water onto a messy coffee table. She unshouldered her sack and set it down.

The way Ron was seated in that particular chair, with his ragtag bookshelf and spindly desk in the background, made him look somewhat regal, in an outmoded, indigent way. He caught her stare so she shifted her gaze to behind him, standing to walk over when she spotted an oddity.

"Ron, are these supposed to be out this time of year?" Kim held up a dusty menorah from his desk, purple candles seated in three of the eight branches. Ron cranked his head around to look.

"Well no, but I didn't have another candle holder."

"What about… a wine bottle?" From beside the leg of his chair, Kim pulled up an empty wine bottle she had knocked with her foot.

"Kay, that's not what it looks like," Ron said, standing quickly, "I had half a bottle left from a roast, Which was delicious if you're asking."

"So not asking." Kim said, folding her arms when Ron snatched the bottle from her and placed it in his recycling. Kim noticed that compared to the rest of his living quarters, his kitchen was clean, organized, and well-lit.

"You cook? You're not just living off Bueno Nacho delivery?"

"Uh, Kim, they only do take out, and besides, I barely eat there anymore."

"No way, you're lying. I totally expected you to be working there."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "I can make my own Mexican food way better for way cheaper. Besides, cooking is a real passion of mine."

"So are you going to make me anything?"

She meant it to sound playful, but her comment filled the room with strange air. Lost memories returning have a way of doing that.

"I– better go grab some blankets, so you can get some sleep and stop judging my place."

"Consider it square for that Miss Priss comment."

Turning out the kitchen light, he stalked off down a separate hallway from the living room, leaving Kim to contemplate the awkwardness as she sunk down onto the futon, laying back. Ron returned shortly with a folded stack of pillow and blanket, placing them on her shins and moving the furniture out from the wall with her on it. She wanted to help him as he moved to each side to drop the back down but the soft mattress gripped her steadfast. Using her feet, she pushed her socks off with much effort and rolled around the newly released expanse of bed. It smelled freshly laundered. Her eye lids began to droop.

"Thanks."

"Anything for a friend. Sleep in, I know I will. We can find Squeegee and sort this mess out tomorrow.

"Ron, do you actually think working together is a good idea?"

"Yeah, I have for years now." He clicked off the overhead light and disappeared down the hall. She lay frowning in the darkness.

* * *

She awoke, needing to pee. Thrown off by the darkness of the room, she spotted a mantle clock that read eleven. AM she presumed, and confirmed with a finger behind the Mexican drapes.

Wondering down the dark hall, she opened the first door on the left, realizing quickly it was not a bathroom but Ron's bedroom. The shade was drawn down to a crack and beneath it on the bed, she could sense his sleeping figure, a mound in the comforter processing waves of air. She watched him for longer than she expected to, worried shifting would awake him, but also comforted by how intimate this opportunity was. The left side of his room had a dresser and a thick circular mat on the floor. A beautiful wooden staff sat in hooks on the wall above. She could not see the right side past the door and did not dare to intrude further.

As she began to backtrack, a small anomaly at the foot of his bed caught her attention. It was a scaled bed of its own, on which Rufus sat upright, wearing a pompomed nightcap, his beady rodent stare watching her. Halting, she locked onto his eyes and returned his stare, rocking from heel to toe to quell her urinary urge. Ron unsettled with a snore, and Kim's eyes snapped up, then back down once Ron quieted again. Playing charades for the naked mole rat, she put one finger to her lips, pointed towards her chest, then swirled her hand over the room while shaking her head. Rufus did not respond, but simply settled back into his own bed. Kim crept out of the room and closed the door with the knob actuated, moving swiftly to the only other door in the hall, a tiny stained bathroom.

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open to bright sunlight beaming behind the blanket into the plaid chair and kitchen smells. Dust floated on the air, landing on the coffee table, where she reached for her water bottle. While she sipped, she saw Ron working at the stove with his back to her. The mantle clock read two PM and she slid from beneath the blanket over to the breakfast nook, her chair squeaking as she took a seat. Ron jerked around, but she was already on her watch, scrolling madly. He stole glances but she didn't look up until he directly addressed her.

"How'd you sleep?" When she didn't answer, he whipped around. "Kim?"

"I'm not ignoring you, I'm trying to get my bike in for repairs before the garages close."

"No, actually, you're ignoring me while doing that that."

She ignored him. He put a lid on his pan, cranked the knob left, and sat down opposite her.

"Do you still drink coffee?"

"Yeah, but don't make any on my account." She continued tapping at her watch, as if gesturing the time repeatedly.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know."

Ron's eyes narrowed and drifted.

"Making an appointment does not take that long,"

"Chill out Ron, I just got up."

"Exactly, and you already have your face jammed in that thing."

She looked up, then down again.

"We don't all have the freedom of leisure time. I have missions stacked up behind this one-off, so the quicker the better."

"How does that even work? Don't you have to do them one at a time?"

"It's not just situations theses days. People come to us hoping to solve mysteries too."

"Oh, like some sort of detective? Like say a private investi-"

"Not even close. I still do field work."

"I, but, you, wha? I do field work. You _found _me doing field work."

"Field work, like in the field Ron, not breaking into unoccupied houses trying to collect loan shark debts."

"I think you need to look up what field work is."

"Hm, no, I'm good."

"And while you're at it, maybe look into what a private investigator does on an average day."

"Oh, but I already know what you do on an average day."

"What? No, you don't. You caught a little glimpse of my life and now you're delighted to point out all the ways you think your path is superior to mine. Well guess what, I don't think they're so different, and you just like to pump yourself up by keeping others down."

"Yeah, that's my problem. Look, don't get so emotional. I have to take this bike in, and change, and run some errands, and then I'll be back. In the meantime, you get a hold of Squeegee and make sure he'll meet you before his… concert. Tell him you'll have his money."

"But I don't have his money."

"And that, is the difference between your path and mine." Tousling her bed hair out, she stood up and rushed past him with a smug sleep-perfumed breeze. As she slipped her boots on, Ron leaned over the half-wall.

"That's an oversimplification and you know it."

"Well, maybe. But I don't need your connection as much as you need this." Pulling a bill from her pocket, she bent down and tucked it in Ron's sneakers. Flashing a bright smile, she bounded out of the apartment.

Grinding his teeth, Ron walked over, kneeling to extract the bill. Splaying it out, he saw that even Benjamin Franklin was giving him a smug smirk. As he stood, eyes still on the bill, the door swung open against his shoulder. A red mane burst from behind it.

"Don't forget your stove. It's still on."

She disappeared with a click, leaving Ron seething and embarrassed.


	11. Private Eyes

"**I see you, and you see me.  
****Watch you blowin' the lines,  
****When you're making a scene.  
****Oh girl, you've got to know,  
****What my head overlooks,  
****The senses will show to my heart.  
****When it's watching for lies,  
You can't escape my private eyes."**

"What are you doing?" Asked Kim, as soon as her boots clapped onto the pale vinyl floor of the office. It was a small square room on the building's tenth floor with a desk, table, and counter. It was drab but professionally decorated. Peeking through Venetian blinds was an entire wall of window overlooking Bueno Nacho and beyond.

Ron didn't answer. He was seated cross-legged on the floor behind his desk, facing away so only his blond hair was visible.

"Wade said you wanted to meet here. How'd you even get a hold of him? The website?"

Not getting a response, Kim sighed and traipsed over to the counter, flicking through a selection of teas that sat beside a small coffee maker. Filling the pot from an adjacent sink, she began brewing a bag before turning around and loudly drumming her fingers on the counter-top.

"Ron, I don't have all day."

A wall clock ticked the time away.

"Ron!"

"Aha," He cried, leaping up and overturning his chair in the process, "Not so fun when you get ignored, is it?"

"Seriously? You have the maturity of… I don't know what. Why are we here? What were you even doing down there?"

"I figured this was a good spot to work on finding our records heist culprit. And it's called meditation Kim, transcendental to be exact."

"Ron, this office isn't yours."

"So my name's not on the door. I sublet it for PI work, ok?"

"We could have planned at your apartment just fine."

"Eh, that has more of a comfortable, lounge feel to it,"

"Is that what you call it?" She said, eyebrow pulled as high as possible.

"This has more of a business meeting, research and development, unbeatable detective team vibe–"

"Look, whatever," Kim interjected, pouring herself a mug of tea, "What did Squeegee say abou–"

She bashfully dribbled her drink back and made a sour face.

"What is with this tea?"

"Uh, I don't really know, those just sorta came with the place."

Scrapping her tongue with her teeth, she dumped the drink in an office plant.

"That's not a real plant by the way."

"Of course it isn't." She shoved the mug back and held her hand out, flapping her fingers towards herself, "Squeegee, shoot."

"He'll meet at nine," Ron said, taking note of Kim's tapping foot, "If you can wait around that long."

"Forgive me, but I'm not used to such slow, unorganized efforts."

"Gee, first my accommodations, now my efforts," He pulled himself up to sit on the desk, knocking a stapler off, "Why does that matter? We're in no rush."

"Wrong. Someone stole those records for a purpose, and until we find it out, there's a whole slew of consequences just waiting to unfold. This could affect any number of people anywhere.

"Even us."

"Of course even us Ron; especially us. You don't think I realized that?"

"I'm just saying,"

"We don't have time for just saying, it's time to be doing."

"Boy you're cranky without breakfast. What, exactly, are we supposed to be doing?"

"I am not cranky, I am not hungry, I'm fine. I just don't need your dumb attitude right now."

She took a deep breathe and exhaled slowly, seating herself at the table.

"You're right. We can't do anything major until we meet Squeegee. But that doesn't mean we can't fill each other in. What did you find at the scene?" She unshouldered her drawstring sack and pulled a folder from it as Ron pulled out his notebook. From his pocket, a tiny plastic bag fluttered down the the floor, which Rufus pointed out with a tug.

"Oh, I almost forgot about this." Ron said, reaching to pick up and hold out his bagged fiber.

"You're a lousy detective," She caught his hurt look and pulled her eyes back to think of an amendment, "But a good evidence handler."

"Booyah." He smiled and spoke the line wistfully. She shivered involuntarily upon hearing it.

"Hey, that's not all I found," He continued, sitting down and opening his book. "So that big hole in the janitor and the wall is from a plasma rifle, a really expensive one."

"Yeah, I know. An Amerilli Tachyon. Super advanced, super high-end custom rifle. Not for civilian, not for military, not for anyone really. Wade's trying to figure out how someone would be able to get their hands on one. And could we please call him Hubert?"

"Uh, if we have to," Ron said, rubbing his hairline, "But I'm so used to saying Wade it'll be a big cha–"

"Not Wade, the janitor. It...personalizes him."

"Yeah, sorta the point of a name, Kim," He said, clearing his throat at her expression, "Kay, well besides the rifle and that hair, I don't have much else written down."

"Anything can help."

"Alright, but it's sort of a poem, except it doesn't rhyme, and the meter is –"

"I meant observations. About the case."

"Oh. Yeah, ok, That's everything."

She watched him quizzically for a few seconds, running her tongue along the backs of her teeth.

"So, I figured the suspect entered the school from the back door to avoid the cameras," She said, trailing her mechanical pencil along a building plan of the school she laid flat, "Then used a dolly to carry the file cabinets whole out of the school to transportation. At some point in the heist the suspect pressed the back of their hand up against this counter, leaving this mark." She pulled a print-out of the TDS logo and laid it over the building plan.

"Overkill Kim, we each have our very own visual." He held his hand up and she rolled her eyes.

"Not the same thing. Well, yes the same thing, but – look, just listen. They were surprised by Hubert, that's why they fired on him. They were concerned first and foremost with anonymity, to the point of killing to conceal their identity."

"So, you're saying they'll be hard to find, and dangerous when and if we do?"

"Obviously," Said Kim, scribbling in her folder, "I wouldn't even be surprised if they were just hired to get those records for someone else."

"Kay, sorta unrelated: I know I'm- I mean, you're paying Squeegee to get his information, but I should still collect that debt from Francis."

"Francis?" Kim asked, connecting by arrow on her sheet.

"Yeah, Francis Lurman,"

"Who?"

"The guy who owes Squeegee money, the whole reason I was at your old house."

"The squatter? You...knew his name?" She said, halting her annotations to bore holes in him with her eyes, "You knew his full name and you didn't think that could possibly be _important information_?

"Well of course," Ron said, clearly improvising, "But it was also my only real leverage to get you to work with me."

"Ron, you insufferable...you are so lucky this might break everything wide open," She brought up her watch, "Wade, run a background check on one Francis Lurman, L-U-R-man."

"Francis Lurman, better known as Frugal Lucre," Wade said cheerfully, "He was a small-time villain for a short time before disappearing. You clashed with him back in high school. Remember the Smarty Mart Vienna sausage debacle?

Ron and Kim answered yes and no respectively, simultaneously.

"What do you mean no? How can you forget that? He tried to hack their computers with a fake bar-code. Remember the turtles, in the pool, in his mom's basement?"

"Ron, not now. I've had hundreds of missions, maybe thousands. Some slip through the cracks," She refocused, "Wade, no signs of travel anywhere close to Middleton lately?"

"Kim, I can't even find his physical address. He has no credit cards, no cellphone, no recent internet presence. I'll run a deep scan but that could take a while."

"He has to be in town," Said Ron, "Squeegee said he was squatting in your old house."

"We can't assume he's here just because some guy says he's here."

"We also can't assume he's even involved in the heist, even with the stamp."

"Maybe not, but he's our lead suspect so far. Anything else Wade?"

"Yeah, I narrowed down those shoe-prints you sent. I removed Middleton Police Boot tread and even with a number of outliers, one print-style repeated too uniformly and too often from the door to the end of your scan to be anyone's but our culprit. I'll print it out."

"I get it, print," Ron chuckled to himself before double-taking, "Wait, print?"

The office printer buzzed to life, beginning to print the shoe report.

"That's be so cool if it wasn't creepily invasive."

Kim retrieved the report, reading it on her return.

"Size 9 men's combat boot. Danner brand. Worn sole. Nice work Wade, if the shoe fits Lurman, we've got something."

"You'll have to find out yourself, there's nothing in my database about his shoe size."

"Didn't expect there to be. One last thing, can you tell me what this hair is from?"

Popping a slim slot on her watch, she clipped a piece of the bagged fibre off into the tray and closed it.

"Give me half a day. I can get a DNA readout."

"Thanks for the help Wade."

She clicked her video call off and the time popped up: 4:25pm.

"Come on, we have a stop to make before The Diamond Sea."

"And how are we getting there."

Kim halted in the middle of packing her bag.

"The way people have gotten around for centuries."

* * *

The walk from Ron's office to the former Possible home was like a slice of nostalgia, as the oft traveled route between Bueno Nacho and the pair's home had changed as much as it stayed the same.

"Want to drop in and see your parents?" Kim joked as they passed Ron's childhood home, only a couple blocks before Kim's.

"Uh, they aren't there anymore."

"Did they move?"

"They passed away."

"What? Ron, that's awful, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, at least it was peaceful, together in their sleep. Gas leak."

"But… what about Hanna?"

"That was lucky, she had a sleepover with a friend that night. After it all happened, Sensei brought her back to Yamagouchi for the rest of her education and training. We still write each-other letters."

"So, you're all by yourself here?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "What about you family? Where are they now?"

"Jim and Tim test pilot rockets at a top secret facility. My parents are on the moon."

"The moon? That new settlement?"

"The very same. My Dad designed it. Never a dull moment for them; there's always something to troubleshoot or repair. But they can video call and everything. I miss actually seeing them though.

"Yeah, I understand."

"I'm sorry."

"You mentioned."

"I wish I had been there for you."

"I could have used a friend, that's for sure."

The walk concluded in silence, up the Possible walkway to the front door. It was still ajar, as Kim had left it, and they closed it behind them. In the late afternoon, the first floor was dark without windows but not pitch black, as light seeped from behind the plywood coverings. At the door into the garage, Kim put her arm out to stop Ron, and turned her UV scanner on. She covered the floor in measured sweeps, except for the squatter's corner, which held a mattress, overturned fruit box and emergency candle, and a cache of empty liquor bottles. It reported five distinct shoe-prints, one of which Kim knew was her own. She sent them to Wade with a message asking to compare them to the prints from the records room.

"What about fingerprints?" Ron asked as Kim reached for a bottle.

"Good idea, but I'll have to dust manually. This scanner is only meant for shoes. Can you grab a plastic bag from my bag? Left side, rolled up."

Ron reached in, pulling a bag off the roll and opening it for Kim to drop the bottle in and tie off.

"Rufus, you feel like searching a mattress?"

Rufus popped out, scrambled down Ron's leg to the mattress, took a couple sniffs, and scampered back, shaking his head. The naked mole rat audibly squeaked "Pee-yew." before returning to his warm pocket.

"You know these little guys can live past thirty? He's just about to celebrate his big two-oh."

Kim smiled warmly, touching his arm and motioning to leave. As they exited the house, the four note beep of Kim's watch sounded, followed by a message.

"_This is Kawasaki Motorsports, your bike is repaired as per your express order __and is ready to be picked up at your leisure. Your card has been bill–"_

She clicked the message off and 5:30pm filled the tiny wrist-held screen.

"Ride's ready."

"Y'know, you didn't once offer to repay me for crashing my car."

"You want me to pay you? For saving your from impending death? Do you see how this is backwards?"

"No, see, I wouldn't have crashed if you hadn't been chasing me."

"Ron, the way I figure, any blame I had for that crash became null and void when you let the naked mole rat drive."

"Touche."

* * *

The Diamond Sea's small parking lot was nearly full as Kim and Ron cruised to a stop across the street. Ron tripped ungracefully from the back of the bike as Kim removed her helmet and shut down the engine.

"Kim, we're like, two hours early. Squeegee's a later than sooner type of guy."

"I think we need to shake our Squeegee out a bit before we use him." She said with a glint in her eyes, flipping out her coat behind her.

"Um, I get what you saying, but I also don't."

"Be casual, walk and talk." She looped around his arm and strolled across the empty street towards the bar. Nuzzling his neck, she hid her face as a couple leaving the bar passed the two. Ron looked straight ahead like a robot. Once they were alone in the parking lot, Kim detached and scanned all the cars.

"Does Squeegee drive?"

"Sure." Ron pointed to a shiny white Coupe DeVille with a continental kit. It was parked in the far back corner and Kim strolled purposefully over to it.

"You're sure it's this one?"

"Pretty sure, yeah." Ron said, following to point out the vanity plate: 'SQUEE-G"

"Of course." Her eyes flew up into a roll and she spun, kicking the quarter-panel of the car hard. Immediately, its lights flashed and horn sounded rhythmically, filling the dim parking lot with noise and light. Kim and Ron shuffled over a couple stalls, hiding behind an SUV. A few patrons wandered out, and upon finding their cars unmolested, returned to the bar. It was minutes before Squeegee waddled out, supported by a knobbed cane, into the parking lot. Upon arriving at his car, he gave a little yelp of surprise at the damage, whereupon Kim strode dramatically from her hiding spot, followed bashfully by Ron.

"I just wanted to make sure I left an impression." Said Kim, as Ron groaned at her pun.

"Red, you? What is your major malfunction? I mean, how could you do this to such a sweet ride?" Said Squeegee waving his sausage fingers around his head, "And Ronman, you're with this firestorm? You want some advice, keep this woman tethered and sedated."

"Enough out of you. We're looking for a particular person and you're going to be extra helpful in locating him."

"Sez who? I ain't in the mood to help no petty vandals."

Kim advanced on the small man, who brandished his cane at her. She blocked his swipe easily, pulling the cane into her own grip. Taking note of its solid medal handhold, she used that end to knock his taillight out.

"You know a Francis Lureman, and you know where to find him."

"Hey, hey, information costs money… and so do taillights."

"Ron here can pay his debt. But, me? I'm on the house."

"Actually, I don't owe him anything, but – "

"Not now, Ron," She said, advancing on Squeegee, batting the cane into her palm and letting it slide out, "I checked that house on Van Dam Hill, but no luck. So how's about you let us know where we could bump into Mr. Lureman."

"Look Red, I'm a businessman, an entrepreneur, not a personal assistant. Francis' wheres and whats are not only none of my concern, but they're beyond even the scope of –"

A crack shattered the air, as Kim walloped the cane into the pavement inches from Squeegee's alligator shoes. The two men recoiled in surprise, leaving Kim to examine the splintered handle of the cane.

"You don't scare me, girl."

"You're a liar, Squeegee," Kim dropped her cane and continuing her menacing advance, "A pompous, greedy, liar."

Each syllable accompanied a firm one-handed shove into his shoulder. He was against the trunk of his car now.

"And because you are, you won't have any objection to this." She reached into her coat as he cowered, before jamming a handful of bills into his sweating palms. He quickly zeroed in on the payment, assessing the income.

"Three...four...five...five hundred?" He gave a toothy grin and she returned a swift kick at his ankle, crumpling him. The bills spilled onto the pavement.

"I don't have all night, and I heard you don't either. For that price, we want a location, plus a list of anyone else you stamped who might have a taste for villiany."

"You're asking me to snitch? On my fans? I can't do that."

"Squeegee, just let us know if there's anyone new in town," Ron interjected, "Anyone a bit more heinous than your two-bit criminal. Someone who would be willing to kill."

"Ronman, I know what you're asking, but -" He pushed himself up and was knocked back down by Kim's boot.

"One thousand." She said.

"You're messing with me."

"Two thousand."

"If I keep saying no, you'll keep going up."

"Fifteen hundred."

"Fine, fine, I know something."

Kim sneered in disgust and threw ten counted out bills down at him. "Speak."

"Lurman is gone south. Texas. Owns land down there."

"Where?" Kim shot.

"And why's he squatting if he owns land?" Ron said, crouched down.

"I don't know why. He's from West Texas, near some town. Luvick? Lockheed? L something. He told me he came to see an old friend. He was only here a few days, had a group of guys with him. Three real surly types. Big drinkers."

"Anyone else?" Ron coaxed, "Anyone you stamped? Anyone with army boots?"

"Lurman's crew was decked out like that, all tactical vests and fatigues and shit. I didn't stamp any of em though, only Lurman."

Silence enveloped them. A lone bar-goer wandered by the group, got into his car, and peeled out, radio blasting. Self-consciously, Kim lifted her foot from the prone man, who clamored to his feet, arms up.

"Listen Red, that's all I got. I don't know what I have to do with what you're searching for, but if you need more information, I'm not going anywhere. And next time, you can be a bit less barbaric."

Kim made a show of straightening Squeegee's fur collar when she was actually pulling tension on his neck. "There shouldn't be a next time. You've been more helpful than I expected. Consider any generosity on my part repayment for damaging your gaudy possessions."

She departed, beckoning Ron and kicking the jagged end of the metal hand grip across the pavement in step.


	12. Tears of Rage

"**It was all so very painless,  
****When you ran out to receive,  
All that false instruction,  
****Which we never could believe.  
And now the heart is filled with gold,  
As if it was a purse.  
But, oh, what kind of love is this,  
Which goes from bad to worse?  
****Tears of rage, tears of grief.  
****Why must I always be the thief?  
****Come to me now, you know we're so alone,  
And life is brief."**

"You didn't have to be so mean."

It was the first words Ron spoke after leaving The Diamond Sea. Sitting on her parked bike, helmet off, Kim nearly mishandled her keys when she heard them. She spun on the seat and put her heels against the curb, facing Ron on the sidewalk outside his apartment. Wind tousled their hair and clothes.

"No, I don't suppose you like seeing your only friends fight," She said, and then pushed herself up to stand straight, nearly nose to nose with him, "But I wasn't there for introductions, I was there for information."

She brushed by him, then waited at the door for his code. He didn't budge.

"Come on, we have a trip to plan, and I'd rather leave tonight then tomorrow." She said, tapping her boot.

"When did you start intimidating people. That was never part of your image."

"Obviously not, because a teenage cheerleader isn't intimidating. But a powerful independent woman with connections is, especially to the right people."

"You could always intimidate, but now you flaunt it. Even abuse it."

"Ron, I'm not 'abusing my power'," She said, throwing air quotes at him, "Some problems need patience, some need force. I'm not going to waste my time chatting up some lowlife for half-truths when a little show will get him singing."

"He's human too. Just because you're too good for him doesn't mean –"

"I didn't injure him, I didn't rob him. I re-compensated him. I even thanked him."

"You _did not_ thank him."

"Alright. But I was cordial." She said, running her hand over her hair and kicking the door, "Which is less than I can say for you if you don't get us out of this wind."

Ron walked over. "If that was cordial, you can save it around me." He punched the code and passed icily into the foyer in front of her. The walk upstairs warmed their bodies but not their spirits. Bursting into his door, Ron kicked his shoes off and wandered in to throw himself into his armchair. Kim waited in the tiny foyer, shedding her coat and boots before pulling up Wade.

"Trade you, yours for mine."

"I got good news and bad news."

"Give me the bad."

"The prints from the garage were weak, but the tread definitely doesn't match any at the crime scene.

"Odd, but that doesn't matter now. I have a gut feeling, so we're getting a bit more circumstantial–

"Are we ever," Ron interrupted from off screen.

"That doesn't mean what you think it means," She said, before refocusing on Wade, "I got some fingerprints to scan and send, but first I need Lurman's residence. It should be in West Texas, somewhere around Lubbock.

"How do you know?" Ron shouted again.

"Because that's obviously where Squeegee meant. Ever seen a map?"

"Not of West Texas..." Ron muttered to himself.

"Way to steal my thunder, Kim," Wade deadpanned, punching a key that pulled up a map with a pin on her screen, "He lives Northwest of Lubbock, on a quarter section in the middle of nowhere. I'll pull up a satellite feed."

"Good news is good news Wade, the messenger just delivers it."

"Easy for you to say, I'm normally the messenger...How's this?" A muddy map filled her watch screen.

"I can't see anything."

"Here." A projection burst from the watch, filling a wall with a detailed satellite map. Ron cranked around at the sudden light.

"Great." Said Kim, moving towards the fridge, tightening up the resolution of the map and squeezing the frame onto the flat white appliance.

"Great? What ever happened to 'badical'?" Said Ron, approaching to examine the map. "Or 'spankin'?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," The image shuddered with Kim, "That was a harassment lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Guys, the map." Wade's disembodied voice radiated from Kim's watch, "There's four buildings on the property. Two are a dwelling and detached garage, just off the road. The other two are more interesting, by the north east property marker. One looks like a warehouse, or some large metal-roofed storage building. The other is a shed."

"Why is a shed interesting?" Ron squinted.

"Because this shed has an off-the-charts heat signature. Check it." Wade filtered the map, showing a bright orange ember over the black dot of shed, against the rest of the cooler property, "This is no ordinary shed."

"You know what sends off that much heat?" Kim postulated, "Homemade plasma rounds."

"You just might be on to something. I'll dig up what I can on black market munitions in the area. Should I tell Dimitris to prepare the jet?

"Dimitris? Jet?" Ron said baffled.

"Please and thank you, we'll be at the airport by nine."

"Oh, one last thing Kim, we got an offer from Fiji Water, they're looking for limited personality rights to run a marketing campaign in South East Asia.

"How limited?"

"No voice, a few stills and one commercial. The contract is generous."

"And they're just looking for a model?"

"A recognizable model."

"Counter-back and accept any raise above six percent."

"Roger, over and out."

When the video call ended, Kim looked up to find Ron gawking at her.

"First intimidation, then a jet, and now trying to pull a profit? You're as bad as Team Impossible"

"You mean those bankrupted has-beens? Not even close. I'm still non-profit; it's just, there happens to be a lot of profit in non-profit," She shrugged the irony off, "Deals get thrown at me, I'd be foolish to reject every single one. Even one out of fifty is a hefty windfall.

"So that's your ratio? 1 out of 50?"

"I'm not that exact, most of the time I don't make those decisions, finance does."

"Finance?"

"Yeah, finance. They run cost analysis and maintenance estimates on equipment and the jet and so forth. Then they tell me what options I have for revenue streams. They're great, now Wade doesn't have to think of everything."

"Kim, you know you're basically running a corporation."

She burst out laughing, leaning back against the kitchen table.

"Of course I am, I have since I started my website. What did you think I was doing?"

"I, well, I..."

"Never thought of it? Come on Ron, you can't still be this naive."

"Naive? Kim, this is everything you were against. It's selling out."

"Yeah Ron, naive," Her eyes narrowed, "You can't expect to help people if you can't even help yourself."

"I get along fine."

She scanned the room before she answered. "Sure, but just 'getting along' doesn't really leave room for extras."

"Room for extras?"

"Yeah, like… room. A shotgun shack would be a step up from this apartment."

"What does my place have to do with helping people?"

"It's the principle. This is a hermit's home for a solitary lifestyle. Not much room for other people."

His hands shot to his hips and leaned in. "So you need to be rich and plaster yourself everywhere to do what you do?"

'Yeah, capital and publicity are pretty invaluable when saving the world."

"You got along fine in high-school."

"And I am oh-so-much better now." Kim gloated.

"Oh please. Do you even save the world anymore?'

She held both her hands up and out. "It's still around, isn't it?"

Ron scoffed, leaning back against the fridge. "I think you're delusional. I've read the news about you. At best you're a treasure hunter. At worst you're a celebrity with a jet-setting complex."

Her boastful smile faded. "The media seems to prefer the term 'heroine crime-fighter'. Still beats your shtick, which is what exactly? Hard-for-cash PI?"

"Kay, y'know how I know you don't save the world?"

"Oh, this I gotta hear."

Ron prepared like he was delivering a closing argument. "You once said that you couldn't save the world without my help."

Genuine confusion contorted her face. "I never said that. If anything, I save the world more when you're not in the way."

"Oh, your ego. You don't save the world, period."

"2009, Freeport of Monrovia, biological scientist Maxine Laurie replaces a batch of malaria medication with capsules containing an immune-compromising designer virus she manufactured for rapid lethality, an outcome prevented by my mere curiosity over a shipping order."

"I call cheat, that's just one continent, and it didn't even affect the whole thing."

"Don't be a tool, Ron. 2011, Chengdu, Zhou Ju captures every living giant panda, holding their species hostage as leverage for the dissolution of the Chinese Communist Party. I negotiated their release in exchange for the funding and opening of a multinational forum addressing corruption in their government.

"Ok, so you waylaid the Panda's inevitable extinction. Big woop."

"Two birds with one stone. 2015, Nice, Tom Desjardins' tsunami-maker would have battered the coastal city if I hadn't–"

"Kim, these are all just isolated incidents."

"And I have an endless supply of them. All those 'little' situations I mend lead to a happier, safer world overall." She said, her face falling into a frown, "Do you really think what I do has no bearing? Do you think that little of my efforts? Or are you jealous or upset or something? I don't get it."

"I just think... I think you're great."He said, hefting his air out afterward and pattering around the tiled kitchen, "Those are all great things you did, that no one else might have prevented, but I still feel like the core of it all, the reason you started helping people in the first place, the part of Kim Possible that didn't care about money or recognition or self-interest is missing, or at least dim, or flickering, like not functioning as it-"

"Yeah, I get it Ron. Sometimes I feel like that too. Like my last job, I rescued an ancient religious idol from treasure hunters. I lost them in a rock-slide, and I don't think any made it out. A bunch of lives lost all for some carved rock. But then I realized I recovered a sacred artifact, keeping it from the hands of thieves and shifting it to the hands of grateful devotees. It didn't work out the way I wanted, but I left it in a better place than before. And that's growing up. It's accepting that you can't have it all one way and that the only thing you can hope for is that you leave your sitch a bit better than it was before you got involved.

"It's a nice story but I don't think that's growing up; I think that's giving up."

"And what have you done for the world lately? I worry about you, even more now that I see what you're up to. It's so easy to withdraw and internalize everything to protect yourself from any pain and sacrifice, thinking you'll never give up. But by then it's already too late and you've given up before you even started."

"Well it's just so easy for you too Kim. It was easy for you to do anything you put your mind to. It was easy for you to flex your independence and burst into your freedom like some fearless rocket, leaving behind anyone who couldn't handle the speed or the heat. Sorry I couldn't hold on for dear life."

"Oh, so that's what this is? That's why you're being so distant and critical?"

"If anyone is being distant and critical, it is not me."

Ron, that was so long ago. I tried everything to get you going, it's not my fault you were–"

"'Holding me back', Right?" He said, mimicking her voice poorly, "First it was just something people said and we ignored. Then it was a nagging thought in my head. Then it was probably a nagging thought in your head. Then it was an unspoken agreement that we decided to override. Then it bloated and bloated until it was the biggest elephant in the room and you couldn't take –"

"The only elephant in the room was your self-administered self-loathing weighing you down to the point of inactivity. What was I supposed to do? You were my boyfriend, my best friend, and it was like you vanished without leaving. I thought maybe, if I took myself out of the equation, you might see what was at stake and it might spark something, cause I had run out of other options.

"Well for such a smart lady you sure made a big stupid mess."

"I can't even talk to you right now."

"That's what you said." He yelled, pointing at her retreating figure, "Those are your exact words. Oh, you are still the same self-important–"

She whipped around and closed the gap. "What? You want to hear I have flaws too? Cause I do, and I know them well. I'd list them but you already seem to know them categorically AND alphabetically. So maybe you should put my file away, and focus on _your own damn file_."

"All that lip service through high school, but when we were apart and the time came to care about me, to actually love me, you played it off like–"

With a crack of flesh she slapped him silent. Her mouth quivered, green eyes glistening.

"I _loved_ you, and you hurt me. No, I was never going to stay tied to an anchor, but you weren't an anchor until you believed you were. You let people get in your head. You stopped communicating. You stopped growing or even reacting. I might be able to save the world Ron, but I can't save someone who doesn't want it."

He watched her every word and the silent tears that proceeded them, before walking briskly past her, out of the apartment. She fell back into a kitchen chair, holding her head with both hands and a grimace on her face.

* * *

"Wade, where's Ron?"

Kim Possible, bathed in unflattering dim light, glared impassively through the camera at him.

"You think I still have him chipped?"

"I know from experience, those are easier to get in then they are to get out."

"I...Fine, let me pinpoint him." He said, typing with his eyes still on her screen, "What, no ethics lecture?"

"I have more pertinent matters right now."

"You guys have a fight?"

The camera jolted before she responded. "How'd you guess? Cause it was inevitable? Cause I didn't want to work with him in the first place? Cause I knew all our old baggage would break open and now I'm more and more behind schedule, wasting my time when I could actually be some real work done instead of tracking him down like some babysitter?" As Kim spoke, her arms motioned, tossing the view around on Wade's monitor.

"What?"

She brought the watch back to her face. "Just, tell me where he is."

"He's at Bueno Nacho. You still remember where that is, right?"

Wade flashed off her screen so it reflected her glare. Lines, always lines. As she grabbed her coat to leave, she heard scampering and caught eyes with Rufus emerging from the side hallway. She knelt to button her boots and tapped her shin.

"Come on."

Rufus stood obstinate, even twisting around and crossing his front limbs.

"Oh, you are kidding me." She advanced and the rat squealed, bounding into the living room, under the futon.

"We're going to find Ron. Rawwn." She flipped the futon skirt up and found a slurry of abandoned messiness, but no Rufus. Having enough of shuffling around the carpet on her hands and knees, she stood with a huff and straightened her shawl collar coat.

"Fine, I'll just leave you here, good luck when you get hung-" Standing at the door, twirling a set of keys, was a gloating Rufus, buck teeth shining. Eyes wide, Kim rummaged her pockets, not finding her motorcycle keys.

"Ok, that's it."

She feigned down the hallway but redirected into the kitchen when Rufus bolted, nabbing the rat in mid-stride. He squirmed and chomped. Kim muffled a yelp and pinched him by the scruff of his neck, snatching the keys from his paws. He hung helplessly in front of her face.

"What is your problem?"

Rufus simply turned his head up and away.

"A victim of Stoppable brainwashing, no doubt. Did he scribble over old pictures of me and make you watch? Tell you horror stories of how I abandoned him?"

His tongue shot out a "patooey".

"You're telling me."

She dropped an indignant Rufus on the kitchen table and went to wash her wound.

"I'm not your enemy, Rufus," She said, shutting off the tap and drying her hands, "We're on the same side right now. You decide if you're up for duty or not, cause Ron's not coming back here for a while, and neither am I. This isn't about personal vendettas and passing the blame, this is about helping people."

Rufus considered her words, not breaking his stare. Having said her piece, Kim headed to the door, hearing a small throat being cleared as she opened it. Bending down with a flat hand, Rufus climbed aboard. She brought him up to eye level, and he patted her wound tenderly.

Kim gave a small grin. "You're only coming because we're stopping at Bueno Nacho."

Rufus gave an exaggerated shrug and Kim rolled her eyes, dumping him into her coat pocket and leaving the apartment.

* * *

Bueno Nacho was the same florescent-light-glaring, bleach-cleaner-smelling, smeared-fingerprints-on-every-surface-having quick service restaurant it always was. Kim had thrown away her rose-coloured glasses years ago, and while this place was one more victim of her modern mentality, she couldn't help the warm feeling in her chest when she slid into the same old booth opposite Ron.

"Hey."

The warmth cooled quickly. Laying in his seat behind an untouched box of nachos, he found more interest in his cuticle then her presence.

"Look, the plane is probably taxiing as we speak. Bag it up and let's go."

Ron grabbed a single chip and munched it, not breaking eye contact with his knees. Kim drew Rufus from her pocket, letting him run free on the table and dive into the nachos face first.

"Me and Rufus are leaving, with or without you."

"No, no, no, no, no," Ron's voice crescendoed, "He's staying with me and we're not following you anywhere. I don't even know who you are anymore."

"So you're going to sulk and do nothing? That's the Ron I know."

"Don't give me lines about knowing me. You haven't known me for years."

"Suit yourself."

Kim stood, giving the table a last once-over, before shaking her head and strolling out the door. Rufus emerged from the box, gesturing Ron to follow.

"No way buddy. It's bad news."

Rufus rolled his eyes and bounded off the table, scrambling out the door behind another customer.

Ron stuck his head out of the booth at his absconding rodent. "Seriously?"

Kim was idling her bike just outside the restaurant, watching Rufus wave his arms on the curb, when Ron burst out of the door,

Kim flipped up the visor to her scuffed helmet when he approached. "Change your mind?"

"Change my mind?" Ron looked ready to lose his, "I can't believe you."

"Look, there's only one reason you're out here, and it's to get a ride to the airport."

"That is the _last _reason I'm out here."

"Rufus knows the fight against evil doesn't end because the good are otherwise occupied."

Ron scooped him up from the pavement. "He's a naked mole rat, a bit more impressionable to being manipulated." Rufus shook his head at being pigeon-holed.

"Look, you can come along or you can stay behind, but what you can't do is yo-yo like a moody child."

"Moody? Last time I saw you, you were crying."

"_I was not_."

"Real tears. Now it's like you've forgotten the whole thing. What sort of mental gymnastics are you running Possible?"

She flipped her kickstand up and her visor down. "Bye."

"That pinched a nerve, huh? A little too close to-" Her bike pulled away from the curb and Ron rushed to cling and drag himself along.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," He cried, ending when she stopped the bike and let him fall over. He jumped up as if ready to say something, but could not get the words to manifest. She flicked her visor up once more.

"Ron, make an actual decision and quit pulling me down into your mire. I'm so sick of…" Her eyes trailed down the the ground, "Where are your shoes?"

He followed her eyes down to his dirty socked feet standing in the gutter. "I left in a bit of a rush, so I forgot a couple things. OK?"

"You poor, artless, pitiful, irritating... buffoon," She said, rushing into the next line like it fell out of her mouth, "I'm so glad we didn't work out."

She watched him sink unsupported to sit on the curbside, his clothes damp and stained where he had fallen. As he began sobbing, all she could do was watch, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as Ron tried to piece together incoherent sentence fragments between heaves. Restaurant goers twisted their heads upon entering or exiting, watching the strange crying gutter man. Kim felt too warm.

"I, um, Ron?" Kim dismounted her bike and kneeled to sit beside him on the curb. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

He jerked away from her, putting an arms length between them. From Ron's pocket, Rufus was patting and consoling him. It took a few seconds until Ron choked out words.

"I'm glad too."

"You don't mean that," Kim said, in damage-control mode, "I didn't mean that. It was-"

"Maybe before. But now I'm sure." He said, wiping his eyes dry with his palms. "I'll help you solve this, because I said I would, and that's important to me. But after, I never want to see you again."

"Oh please, enough with the melodrama," Kim flared, "I'm not going to feel guilty because you dragged those words out of me."

"You're guilty for even thinking them. But that's fine," He stood swiftly, "All you're guilty of is being truthful."

He stood and she sat in silence, until Ron kicked her bike's tire from his curbside seat.

"Do I have to drive us to the airport or what?"

A headache exploded when Kim jolted upward.


	13. Iodine

**"I needed you, I knew I was in danger,  
****Of losing what I used to think was mine.  
****You let me love you till I was a failure.  
****You let me love you till I was a failure.  
****Your beauty on my bruise like iodine.  
****I asked you if a man could be forgiven,  
****And though I failed at love, was this a crime?  
****You said, 'Don't worry, don't worry darling,'  
****You said, 'Don't worry, don't you worry, darling,'  
****There are may ways a man can serve his time."**

On the nighttime tarmac, lit up with high up halogen floods, lay a sleek black jet, idling, staircase descending from the doorway, with an remodeled KP logo on the tail fin. Kim's pent stride was matched by Ron's as they wordlessly, ceaselessly, climbed up and in. Dimitris stood at the door of the cockpit when they entered.

"I expected you earlier." He said, raising the staircase by controls.

"I have the schedule, you adapt to it," Kim said, "That's what it means to work for me."

"Well, who is your guest?"

"Don't worry about him."

Ron brushed past Kim, knocking her off-kilter on his way into the passenger quarters. Her narrowed eyes did not register with the back of his retreating head as his wet sock feet splotched down the hall.

"Hello?" Dimitris called to Ron, getting no reply, "He is a silent type?"

"He will be on this trip if he knows what's best for him."

Dimitris caught Kim's glare and, realizing the words had more than one target, made a stoic face and closed the plane door before retreating to the cockpit. Clenching her hair but receiving no pain relief, Kim smoothed it out and walked back into the plane.

The plane was set up into four booths, each made of seats facing each-other and a table in-between. Towards the front was a bar. Ron sat in the far back right, watching the wing blink out the window. Retrieving her briefcase from an embedded storage niche and a water bottle from the fridge under the bar, Kim sat across the ample aisle in the opposite window seat and placed her objects on the table in front of her.

Tossing her sack under the table, she kicked aside the briefcase with her feet and leaned back. Finishing the entire bottle in throat racking gulps, she jammed its crinkling carcass into the seat's cupholder. Dimming her overhead lights, she shut her eyes and tried to find solace. Her hands raked her face periodically and she ended up shutting her booth lights off altogether. Sleep arrived restlessly.

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open to fully bright overhead lights. Opposite her, Ron sat reading a stapled report and on the table between was her open briefcase and a line of pill bottles in front of her. Each with the same anonymous brown labels she used. He looked up at her surprised face and leaned over to point each medication out with a pencil eraser.

"Somadril. Halcion. Dexedrine. Normison. Dalmane. Why do you have a pharmacy in your briefcase?"

"You had no right." In a fury, she began snatching up the containers and loading them back into the briefcase, "To go through my private things."

"I figured a little intervention was in order."

"You what?"

"At least now your moodiness makes sense. I get the uppers, but why so many downers? Can't get to sleep at night?"

"I sleep fine," She said, clicking the case shut . "Those pills are for pre-mission preparation, mild pain, muscle stiffness, and none of your damn business."

Ron barked a laugh that startled Kim. "I might be a buffoon, but I'm also a PI. I've gone through a few medical cabinets and I've seen more than a few people lie about dependency. This isn't normal, Kim. "

Kim clutched the case and stared, somewhere between fearful and angry. "I only take them when I need them. For jet lag. You have no idea-"

"A likely story, you even have the jet to corroborate."

"I don't take drugs for no reason."

"No, always a reason. But the reason for this one is my favorite," Ron's grin distorted with schaudenfreud as if he was struck by the Attitudinator. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a particular bottle as Kim's face blanched, rattling it in front of her, "Kim Possible, all stressed out from saving the world. How many of these do you pop a day, or do you even keep track with such a hectic schedule and all that jet lag."

"You're shit." She managed.

"And you're using these to what, unwind? Ever heard 'Mother's Little Helper'? 'What a drag it is getting ol-'"

Kim swung her briefcase into Ron's nose, eliciting a crack and sending the pill bottle bouncing off the fuselage. He clung to his face, smearing blood, as Kim pounced, kneeling in his lap, pounding at his head.

"I do not have to answer to you. You sick, twisted-"

Shoving her backward onto the table, Ron clamored over the arm rest into the aisle, when Kim grabbed his ankle and twisted him to the ground. He rolled over as she jumped, knee first, into his gut, and continued her onslaught. Kim was about to land a stellar punch, when the airplane jolted and knocked her off target so she connected with the floor instead.

In the turbulent aftermath, Ron scrambled backwards, his hand painfully rolling on the sideways pill bottle. He nabbed it and kicked at Kim, who grabbed his foot once more. He landed his other foot in her solar plexus and knocked her back. Seizing his chance, he rose and bounded past her recovering figure down the hall to the back of the plane.

"Ron." Kim called to the retreating figure, breathing hard. A glance at her sack under the table enticed her but she shook her head clear of the idea. Instead, she stood and followed slowly, finding a locked bathroom. She hammered at the door.

"Open up."

After a few seconds came Ron's muffled reply. "What the hell was that?"

"What the hell was _that_? You deserved it."

"I'm not opening this door."

"You and I both know this door is no match-"

"I'll flush them."

She froze, then licked her lips.

"I don't care."

The vacuum toilet actuated and she shivered. Her swift kick knocked the door open and she found Ron standing at the far wall, hands behind his back, expecting the intrusion. She advanced slowly, almost sultrily.

"Where's my pills, Ron?"

"Gone."

She was almost against him, mouth near his, eyes in his.

"Liar." She flicked the word off her tongue, catching the faintest taste of blood.

His hands came between them, holding a pill bottle that, although once half full, was now drained. The brown label flashed _Diazepam_ _5mg_ in gold lettering. Her eyes flickered as a frown overtook her. He pointed to his left, at the mirror that reflected them. Kim was tousled and flustered, her emerald eyes unnaturally wide. Ron had blood down his philtrum to his chin and beyond as he leaned away from his encroaching assailant, against the wall.

"Frown lines." He said, moving his hand from pointing in the mirror to the middle of her brow, rubbing the skin lightly. Kim felt mollified and hypnotized, not unlike the effects of her usual nightime dose.

"All better." Ron said, interrupting her trance. She looked in the mirror, leaning to see better, rubbing the skin herself. Her wrinkles had thinned noticeably.

"You fixed them,"

"All those little situations I mend lead to a better world overall" He parroted, grinning, his blood shining in the light and refusing to be ignored.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." She touched his lip, then up to his nose, caressing the ridge. He snaked his hand into her loose one and stood up straight, so their upper bodies met. His other hand came to rest on top of her abdomen.

"You should be. When you hurt me, you hurt yourself."

She backed away, considered his words, then moved in to kiss him. Tacky blood tasted metallic as her tongue poked at his lips. She felt cold and they broke away simultaneously.

"I flushed something you love, something you keep hidden," He began, "So now I'll flush something I love, something I keep hidden."

"Ron, you don't have to."

To Kim's confusion, he stepped cautiously into the toilet, standing in the bowl. With a wistful expression, he pushed the lever and was sucked down into nothing.

* * *

Kim shook from her sleep, drawing the attention of Ron from across the aisle. They locked eyes briefly until he returned to cards with Rufus, which Kim watched with wide-eyed intensity until gathering up her sack and hurrying to the washroom.

Once inside, door locked, she pawed through the mishmash. Her hand brushed cool metal, a heavy lug at the bottom of the bag. She dug around to cylindrical plastic, pulling up the wrong container twice, then the right one the third time. Two circular pills with hearts tumbled into her hand, followed by a third straggler. She consumed them, slurped a handful of water after them, then checked the mirror. She couldn't rub her lines away, which made her frown.

Treading carefully, Kim regained her seat and lowered her lights, resting her feet on the table. Her jet hummed peacefully through the sky and she let her eyes close softly, so her reality sunk into darkness, humming, and the occasional flip of a card.


	14. The Last Wall Of The Castle

"**Sorry that I hurt her I went astray;**

**Hurt her mind and broke her heart.**

**But there's no stopping once you start; she went away;**

**Understanding is a virtue, hard to come by.**

**You can teach me how to love,**

**If you'll only try; So please,**

**Don't give up so soon."**

"Five minutes out."

Kim's eyes floated open at Dimitris' buzzing transmission. She reached up for the intercom, missing it twice.

"Roger."

Holstering the microphone sloppily, she closed her briefcase and returned it, catching Ron from the corner of her eye. He lay sprawled over two seats, head slumped, asleep. He had a pair of brand new combat boots on, unlaced with lolling tongues. Kim saw his pair of socks hanging off the table, which briefly became a pair of pairs. She sat down and closed her eyes behind her palms for a few breaths. Still feeling dazed, she retrieving two parachutes, tossing one into his exposed lap, jolting him awake into a shout.

"Are we crashing? I can't die yet."

"It's go time." She said, unenthusiasically.

"Already? What's the plan?"

"What it's always been," Kim strapped her parachute tight and taking a long breath, "Follow my lead and try to be helpful."

Towards the back of the plane was a flight door, which Kim unlocked and rolled open. Hanging dangerously at the threshold, she checked her watch, pulling up GPS, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. With some difficulty, Ron finally secured his parachute, zipping Rufus in his pocket. The humans donned visored helmets.

"It's been a while since I did this, could you give me a brief run-throu-"

Kim fell in the bustling sky, leaving Ron with his finger hanging uselessly.

"I guess it's sorta like riding a bike." He said, before plummeting to follow.

The dark sky glowed orange at the horizon, flooding the barren landscape, a patchwork of pale tan, with long shadows. Kim directed herself expertly towards her target, aiming for the property's edge, smiling languidly in the rush of air. Ron flailed about, actively pushing against his freefall. He was about to cry out in frustration when -

"Ron, pull your chute at a thousand feet."

"A thousand?" He swung his head around looking for some comparison on the flatland, his body twisting to follow.

"Just watch me."

He straightened out to see Kim much closer to the ground, when a black plume exploded behind her and drifted sideways into the wide field. It collapsed to the ground in an unnervingly short time.

"Pull when I say."

"Now?" He said, hand gripping the pull-cord

"No, hold-"

"Now?"

"No, lis-"

Ron's chute jolted open and he drifted downward, knees at his chest, to entangle in a barbed wire fence. Her parachute evacuated, Kim rendezvoused with him at the property line.

"See what happens when you don't listen to me?" She whispered, crouching down beside him. Ron struggled against the fence, warping and jingling it.

"When I don't listen to you?" He began, twisting and freezing, "It's poking me."

"Stop," Kim said, patting and retrieving snips from her cargo pants to clip him out. She dragged him backwards, leaving him lying. He sloughed off his parachute then rose to crouch beside her.

"I could have gotten myself out." He said.

"Your knees are shaking," She commented.

"That was more painful than it looked."

"It looked painful."

"Yeah, why did they have to barb it? Why not just straight wire? That must be just as effective, right?"

"Shh, come on." Kim passed through the snipped fence. The rising sun hit the large building, the only real fixture on the horizon, outweighing the shed on the dark background.

"You're going to the large building. I'm checking the shed. Stay hidden, don't engage. If you're spotted, call for help." She tapped his helmet at the earpiece, then duck-walked at a remarkable pace over the open ground, stumbling with an immediate recovery once. Ron rubbed his side and unzipped Rufus.

"Eyes and ears, buddy."

Rufus saluted and scoped the empty horizon as Ron moved towards the building, keeping as close to the ground as he could. When they met the windowless steel building, Ron tried its side door, finding it locked. From his coat, he withdrew a slim black case, unzipping it to reveal a lockpick set.

"Time for a pro to show off his craft," Ron said, handing the kit over to Rufus, who immediately got to work.

Kim reached the shed, its multicoloured plywood shedding paint and tin roof rusting patches. It sat dilapidated on the field, rot attacking its wood foundation. She approached with caution, although it was for naught. Beyond the wobbly door was a selection of antique hand tools and a floor full of junk and shuffled rat's nest. She retreated out into the brightening morning, seeing the other building more clearly.

"What did you find?"

"It's a jungle in here."

"Excuse me?"

"Plants and lights. It's warm and damp, like a greenhouse," He said, his voice reverberating, "Shouldn't we have code-names? This would work better with code-names."

"Focus. It's not what we're concerned with. Get over here; to the northwest."

"Yeah, I can see you."

She squinted her eyes through the rising sun and saw him waving at the side of the building. She could feel her focus re-tightening as the morning stretched out.

"What part of stay hidden- just get over here."

Involuntarily sneering, Kim kicked at the nearest pile, which elicited a squeak and scampering, both from a rat and from Kim. Outside the door, she collected herself, embarrassed by her irrational fearfulness. Removing her helmet, she pulled up her watch.

"Wade, it's just junk." She hissed.

"What?"

"The shed, it's junk. Your heat signature must have been the sun off the tin roof or something." She said, pulling the old roofing up with a finger and letting it slap back against the fascia.

"No way, that's... I would have..." He said, rolling off screen momentarily and returning shamefaced, "Er, you might be right. I'm certain that's his property though. What about the big building?"

"I think it's a grow-op," She said, looking up to see Ron crawling conspicuously through the grass towards her and rolling her eyes.

"I'll drop a GPS pin at the house then." Wade said, "But a grow-op fits. I just finished that fiber sample readout. It wasn't hair, it's Kenaf."

"Kenaf?"

"Yeah, a kind of hemp. It's an unprocessed strand from a really healthy specimen, but botany isn't my area of expertise."

"Hemp as in marijuana?"

"Close but no. This would be more for industry like paper-production or textiles. I could run an immediate cross-examination with a visual inspection."

"Give me five." She said and shut down the communication.

Ron finished crawling over, rising to stand beside her and catch his breath, tossing his helmet off.

"Wade needs to see those plants." She said.

"Seriously? All this crawling is wreaking havoc on my pentacostal muscles."

"Pentacostal?"

Ron waved a vague hand over his thighs. Kim narrowed her eyes and started out towards the large building in the quiet, empty horizon, with Ron in tow.

"Those are your quadriceps," She said.

"Yeah, well, I'm using their scientific name."

"Costals are your ribs. Pentacostal isn't even anatomy."

"Look, whatever, I'm just trying to say my legs hurt."

"Well we still have eight hundred yards to go to the house, not including going back right now."

"Eight? I am not crawling eight hundred yards."

"No one told you to crawl. Anywhere." She said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Just to stay hidden."

"What am I supposed to do then?" He said, "I can't do your stupid crouching run."

"It's called a duck-walk, and if you keep complaining, I'm going to hurt something you actually know the name of."

Ron shut his mouth into a grimace as the building loomed in front of them. Kim went through the same door Rufus picked, and emerged less than a minute later while Ron kept watch, holding his cheek up with a fist.

"They're a match. That's a stamp and a plant." Kim said, pulling the compass on her watch up and striking out west, towards the circumferential beacon indicating the house, "I'm almost certain Lurman's involved."

Ron followed her, his attitude etched on his face.

"Keep your eyes peeled," Kim advised, "Our only hope here is to spot before we're spotted."

"But we can walk now."

"Walking was never-" Kim began, then sighed to silence.

"Why are we going to the house?" Ron asked, "I thought we were here for the shed."

"No, we're here to find evidence that connects Lurman to the school."

"But what about the shed?"

"Ron, just, drop the shed."

"Ok, now my costals hurt too."

They covered a seemingly long distance of flat sandy land. Previously tilled field battered by age to a lumpy bed of dry fescue. A farmhouse emerged far on the horizon.

"So your plan was to parachute into the desert and hoof it?" Ron asked, inflecting as sarcastically as he could. Rufus stood on his shoulder, keeping watch with and paw to his brow and inferior mole-rat vision.

"We're actually in a mesa." Kim said, kicking in a step, "Desert wouldn't support plant-life like this."

"Can you let go of the details and focus on what I actually mean?"

"Which would be?"

"I mean, shouldn't you have thought this through better?"

Kim stopped in her tracks and he bumped into her. She turned to face him directly. "Are you being intentionally aggravating to spite me, or does it just come naturally?"

Ron contemplated his answer, to which Kim spun around and marched straight ahead. Ron caught up.

"Don't take it so personally," Ron said, "The only thing I care about is this mission going smoothly."

"Funny, that's the only thing I care about too."

"So we're on the same page?"

"I -," Kim broke a sarcastic grin and looked sidelong at him, "We're on the opposite covers. We couldn't be further apart, Stoppable."

"You realize a dust jacket is one page."

Kim's eyes dulled and she worked her jaw. "That's not what I meant."

"Why did we parachute in from a jet?" He asked, maintaining his momentum, "Why not just drive? Or, ooh, a helicopter."

Rufus gave an enthusiastic smile and nod at the notion.

"Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?"

"I mean, how are we even getting out of here?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find some opportunity. Just like I always had to."

"See, you don't even have a plan. I bet most of your ideas are improvised on the spot. How am I supposed to work with that?"

"You're supposed to stop asking me what to do and just follow what I'm-"

Rufus' squeal preceded by seconds a gunshot that cut the air around them. The pair dropped to the ground, Kim retrieving small binoculars and rising just above the crop to scan. A lone rifleman was running towards their position. The horizon on either side was clear.

"One shooter, two o'clock," Kim said, replacing her binoculars and crawling forward through the rough pasture, "You head north, I'll stay west."

"Split up? Are you mad?" Ron hissed, stowing his pet from the danger.

"Fine, if you're such a baby," Kim reached into her sack and pulled out the stainless steel automatic from the canyon, checking the breech and handing it to Ron, "Then sit tight and cover me."

"Why do you have a - cover you? Kim, what are you -"

Tensing her crouch, Kim sprang up from the grass, catching the aim of the gunman, who fire and missed. She hit the ground running, watching him work the bolt a hundred yards ahead. Beginning to zig-zag, she drew another round that struck the ground beside her. His figure, plaid shirted and bald headed, grew relentlessly as she dashed across the field as erratically as possible. Cheer-leading practice flowed through her once again. Backing away slowly, he ran the bolt and tried leading her with his sights, barrel waving sloppily. He fired when she was nearly point blank, as her fingers grappled the rifle from his grip, directing the muzzle into the dirt. Spinning, she brought her heel hard against the side of his head, knocking him to the ground, out cold.

Ron's head poked out when the silence held, a shaky glimmer beside him. Seeing the coast was clear, he ran to meet Kim, who was unloading the rifle, chest heaving.

"You're insane," He cried, jostling her as soon as he was in reach.

"Insanely awesome," She amended, dropping the empty rifle to the dirt, "I had to do something, seeing as my cover fire was out to lunch."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't, I was worried I'd hit you, or get shot, or miss, and I-"

"Relax. You seriously think I'd give you a loaded gun?" She jerked the automatic from his hand, racking the slide to reveal an empty chamber before thumbing the return and dropping it in her sack. "All I did was make sure you wouldn't do anything dumb."

"You..." He shoved her again, playfully relieved, and she burst into a great laugh, shiny white teeth and eyes shut with crow's-feet. He started laughing as well, resting his hand on her shoulder. Slowly, awkwardness pervaded their happiness. They thought simultaneously of the cool curbside from hours past. He retracted his hand to his pocket.

"Shouldn't we be worried about more coming? Like those big surly types Squeegee mentioned?" Ron asked hesitantly, withdrawing.

"They would have come when they heard shots. I have a feeling we caught Mr. Lurman here all by himself this morning." Kim used a pointed foot to flip the limp body over, Francis Lurman's unconscious face staring up at them.


	15. The Soft Parade

**"Successful hills are here to stay.**

**Everything must be this way.**

**Gentle street where people play.**

**Welcome to the soft parade.**

**All our lives we sweat and save,**

**Building for a shallow grave.**

**Must be something else, we say,**

**Somehow to defend this place.**

**Everything must be this way.**

**Everything must be this way."**

Into the farmhouse, condition bordering derelict, Kim and Ron drug by the arms Francis Lurman. His heels sledded across well-worn shiplap, jolting on the uneven floor. Kim swung around a kitchen chair to stand, and Ron struggled to drag Francis into the chair.

"Put these on him," Kim ordered, checking Francis' pockets while extending a single handcuff that she spun out to a set with a click. Ron secured Lurman's arms through the back of the wooden chair.

"What about his legs?"

"Right, check his boots and watch him, I'll look around."

"You're seriously dumping unconscious supervision on me?"

"Not unconscious supervision; supervision of the unconscious."

"I can help."

"Yeah, you can help waste time defending how you can help. Multitask, Ron," She said, putting a wall between them.

Ron scanned the alley kitchen. The sink sat stacked, a stained fridge buzzed, but no papers or artifacts were out. He saw a gasfitter's card magnet on the fridge. The microwave had nothing. The coffee maker had nothing. On top of the fridge had dust. Ron looked inside the fridge and recoiled it closed. He pulled off one of Lurman's boots and promptly put it at the window sill to air out. He poked a loaf of bread on the counter and removed his nose from the crook of his elbow.

"So he's guilty?" Ron called through the wall, opening and closing drawers, and then again.

"Of something, absolutely. It's no coincidence we're here." Her reply muffled, "Shooting at us only confirms my suspicions."

"We were trespassing."

"We weren't inside the house, Ron. This isn't the wild west where you shoot trespassers and hang them off the willow tree." She said from towards the back entrance to the kitchen., "He knows something or has something."

"Maybe," Ron said, head well under the sink, "Found anything?"

"You'll be the first to know."

"What if he doesn't have any evidence?" Ron said, bashing the crown of his head on the bottom of the cupboard and rolling out in silent pain holding his head.

"Then hopefully he has a story to tell," She said, strolling in with a confused look she rerouted into the Rolodex she held, "You do know the basic legal process, right?"

"Of course Kim, PI here," He said, checking his hand for blood and standing,

"I've heard," Kim said, grimacing.

"What adda?" Lurman slurred awake, blinking pain away and struggling in the chair, kicking his mismatched feet.

"You've sunk pretty low, Lurman," Kim said, putting the Rolodex on the counter, "Shooting at guests. We didn't see any 'No Trespassing' signs on the way in."

"No need, it goes without saying. What were you doing on my property?" He said, eyes narrowing, "Kim Possible."

"Oh, we just had to have a little chat. I heard you were in Middleton and didn't even visit us. We had to make sure everything was alright."

"I'm the same as I've ever been."

"That's not what we heard. We heard you were hanging around the school after hours. A little old for petty vandalism, aren't we?"

"I might be tied up but I don't have to listen to your conjecture."

"You got me, you never vandalized anything," Kim said, halting her pacing, "Unless you count the wall behind that poor janitor; you left a pretty big mark."

"What?"

"Or was it someone in your squad? Got a bit too trigger happy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Nice boot Francis," Ron interjected, retrieving it from the sill and holding it up to the kitchen light, reading the inner tag aloud.

"Daner," He flipped to see the sole, "Size nine."

"Bippity boppity boo," Grinned Kim, "If the shoe fits..." Ron watched her nervously as he put the boot down.

"So what?" Francis said, his eyes narrow and the kitchen florescent reflecting off his polished dome.

"Where are the files?" Kim asked.

"Files? Even if I knew what you were talking about, I wouldn't tell you."

"It's always the same formula with you criminals," Kim said, crossing her arms, "I asked you a question."

"Look, you come here, accost me, tie me up, give me some lines, and it's nothing," He said, jerking at his bonds, "You have nothing."

"You don't tell me what I have, Lurman. You tell me what you have."

"Check the basement. Or the attic." He said, shrugging, "Or the out-buildings with my completely legal foliage. In fact, they might be buried in the field somewhere. There's shovels in the garden shed."

Kim darted a tongue across her lips, staring down the restrained man. Ron left the room.

"Ron, he's being a smartass."

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, back-stepping into the kitchen, "I knew that. Just thought I'd check anyway."

"We don't have to," Kim said, turning to Ron, "Because he's going to tell-"

Bursting to his feet, chair tied around his back, Francis charged into Kim's sideways figure, knocking her into a counter cupboard face that cracked inward. Ron rushed forward and Lurman swung the chair legs into Ron with a triumphant 'Hah!'. Kim pulled herself up, hair tousled, and groped along the countertop to the first object, a pot from a coffee maker. Glancing at it, she flung it against the edge, shattering the glass carafe into a shard-laden handle, which she brandished forward. Lurman noticed the weapon and trod carefully backwards. The two circled in the small kitchen.

"Go ahead Red. John 19:34.'"

"Even if I knew what you were talking about, I wouldn't tell you." Kim said, mocking, before she jolted forward.

"Kim?" Ron said, scrambling to his feet and grabbed her collar, just as a shard scratched Lurman's arm. She struggled and shook, then hesitantly followed Ron's force, padding backwards out of the kitchen, carafe handle still aimed as she departed the scene. In the living room, Ron swung her around and shook her pouting, obstinate figure, careful of the sharp glass between them.

"What? Is violence your go-to now?"

"He was going to break, I could see it in his eyes."

"His eyes? You should see your pupils right now. You look crazy."

Kim slowly drug her glare from the kitchen doorway across to Ron.

"You realize I let you drag me out of there? It was an act. Good cop, bad cop." She said, placing the pot remains on a telephone table, "Now you go in there and be on his side."

"His side?"

"Yeah, offer him something."

"Like what?"

"Chocolate, love, I don't know, that's why I'm bad cop."

"You're bad something, that's for sure."

"Take initiative and improvise for once," She hissed. Ron headed back towards the kitchen, throwing daggers through his eye at her, and turning around to find Francis Lurman, still tied to a chair, on one boot and one sock, bent over a cellphone on the ground, in mid-conversation.

"Kim," Ron said, freezing.

"-That's right. They won't be here long though." Francis said into the phone, finishing with a stomping boot heel. The phone collapsed under the force. Kim rushed in, slapping past Ron with her hair and assessing the situation.

"Sorry folks, but I'm expecting company shortly." Lurman said, straightening to the uncomfortable bow the chair allowed, "So we're going to want to wrap this up,"

Kim bounded out quicker than she entered, finding the staircase and ascending four at a time. "Search the basement," She yelled back.

At the threshold of the kitchen, Ron bounced his gaze between Lurman and the ajar basement door. Stepping quickly toward the bounded man, Ron retrieved a paring knife from the kitchen block and jabbed it into and out of his side. Lurman cried out, squirming backwards and taking a knee before collapsing sideways.

"Weird," Ron said, examining the knife and then tossing it into the sink, "No water."

He raced out of the kitchen and down into the basement, ripping a drawstring cord on his way that lit the stairs. In murky shadow, rows of beige file cabinets stood like a small-scale terracotta army.

"I told her," Ron said, ripping open the first drawer that revealed itself empty, "Now where did you put everything?"

Squeezing through the maze, Ron bumped the light, empty cabinets on his way towards the back. One clanged, falling angled like a widow-maker. A wood stove in the corner sat inert, surrounded by stacks of manila tag folders. Ron drew a flashlight and scanned the tabs. Still alphabetical.

"Kim," He called, hammering his light rhythmically against the stove pipe, "Down here,"

Her footsteps pounded closer until she found Ron scanning the stacks on his hands and knees.

"Iym sorrwe Wawn," Ron said, with the flashlight in his mouth, "You werr rite, we should hab looked down here firdst,"

"Ron, we don't have time for this. We have to figure out why they took them before Lurman's backup get here. Are any missing?"

Ron spit out the flashlight with an audible 'patooey'.

"Seriously?" He said, motioning the towering stacks, "Look at how many-"

"What about ours? Are ours in there?"

"Oh yeah, that cuts the search down to," He said, miming counting then bursting his hand out, "All of them!"

"Shut up. Just shut up," Kim said, drawing her own light and scanning, "Dark brown is old, before our time. That cuts out half. Modern folders are thinner with plastic tabs. Ours are around the switch from classic manila to modern."

"What?"

"Here, here, take that pile, I'll take this one."

They scanned in silence, bent around the precarious stacks, aiming their flashlights along every name-tag. When they exhausted a stack, they shifted carefully to the next.

"Rockwaller," Ron said finally, "I found Bonnie."

"That's the happiest I've ever been to hear that name," Kim said, scootching beside Ron at the pile, "Stoppable and Possible can't be far. Look up, I'll look down."

They scanned carefully and found their handwritten labels poking out in alphabetical order. Ron pulled Kim's and vice versa.

"Great, so it's not about us." Ron said.

"More like 'great, we have nothing and we have to get out, now.'" Kim said, jamming the file into her drawstring sack and handing it to Ron before darting through the cabinets back upstairs, "Hurry and follow me."

Ron flipped the sack over his back and bumbled up the stairs in tow.


	16. Short Skirt Long Jacket

**"I want a girl who gets up early**

**I want a girl who stays up late**

**I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity**

**Who uses a machete to cut through red tape**

**With fingernails that shine like justice**

**And a voice that is dark like tinted glass**

**She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack**

**She's touring the facilities and picking up slack**

**I want a girl with a short skirt and a long, long jacket"**

The rumble drew Kim's attention, but the gravel cloud approaching up the driveway held it.

"They're here." She said, pulling away from the curtained window. Ripping down the curtain rod, she stripping the curtain and held the antique pole like a jousting rod.

"Lock the front and get out the back." She ordered Ron as she ran past him, pole flashing.

"What about Lurman?"

"Forget him, they'll be after us." She ran upstairs and Ron rushed first to the front, and then out the back.

On the top floor, Kim burst into an angle roofed bedroom, shattering the window with her rod and climbing out onto the roof. Two black Suburbans skidded to an angle, doors opening while still braking. Out poured a group of well-built androgynous people in dark full body suits and gas masks holding thin, sleek rifles. As they assembled in formation and aimed, Kim counted eight total and flipped over the peak of the roof right as a barrage of plasma flung shingles. The rifles sounded like battery operated toys, but the light splatter of asphalt on her scalp and neck made her scream and paw at herself. Catching her breath and sliding down the slope to the eaves, she saw Ron running out through the expanse behind the house, realizing a distraction would simply strand them in the field. This threat must be dealt with directly.

Hanging and falling, Kim hit the ground, meeting a suit at the corner and dispatching them with a kick and a curtain rod hooked in her elbow. Peeking around the corner drew fire, spraying liquid siding as she returned to cover. The joist cracked and the corner of the house buckled. Dropping the bent rod and grabbing the unconscious suit's rifle, she read the data stamp: _Amerilli Tachyon_.

"All roads lead to Rome," She mused. Another suit rounded the corner, meeting Kim swinging the rifle into their head. Escaping their predictable pincer movement, Kim rushed through the back door as a gang of suits broke down the front. Hurling her rifle at them, Kim leapt aside as plasma slathered the back wall. Glass drooled out of the pane and wallpaper ignited.

Crawling into the kitchen, Kim passed without noticing the moaning, injured Lurman, and found the knife block, clearing it of knives. Moving to the other entrance and leaning out the corner, she hurled a selection at an advancing squad. As they connected gruesomely, Kim rushed by them, ganking a rifle from one she missed and sending a series of shots towards the backdoor where more suits entered. One screamed when their arm blew clean off. The others hurled themselves to the ground, returning fire as Kim retreated out the open front door. The house shifted very quickly and never recovered, toppling towards the back like it was sinking into the arid shrubland around it.

"How's it feel?" She called into the plume of dust, not waiting for a response but dashing to a parked Suburban, still idling. Throwing the rifle in and jamming it into gear, she peeled out past the house and into the field as plasma weakly splattered its rear. Paint and metal smoldered and the glass lolled out of its frame until the left barn door peeled right off its hinges.

Far in the field, with the house barely in the mirror, Kim spotted Ron still running, bringing the bucking SUV to halt beside him and reaching over to open the passenger door.

"I don't normally pick up hitchhikers, but you look like you need a lift."

Ron fell into the seat with heaving breath.

"They're behind us." He said, truncated and wheezy.

Kim confirmed in her mirror, the second SUV on the horizon of the field, and spun off. Bounding into the more recently harrowed rows, triticale chaffs slapped the undercarriage. She pulled up her watch.

"Wade, we need some directions off this property."

"Adjust left, go through a fence and you'll hit the highway," Said Wade, shortly, "But Kim, I have an emergency,"

"A little busy, but I have time," She said, turning to Ron and pointing to the back, "Grab that rifle and fend them off."

"Me?" He said, retrieving and examining the unlabeled, slab-like rifle, "I don't know how to use this thing."

"Aim and shoot. Easy peasy. Remember what I said about improvising," She said, and he sent her a scathing look as he climbed between the seats, losing footing when the vehicle hit a plowed ridge, "Wade, what's the sitch?"

"It's a break-in at a high-security storage facility."

"Not really top-priority."

"Dimitris saw a heavy-lift helicopter hovering. No alarms triggered, but suspicious activity on the premises."

"So it's a helicopter above a aerospace compound?" Kim said, hitting the post and barbwire fence and bounding across the ditch to climb onto the highway, "How does that equal break-in?"

"Just look." Wade said, projecting a security feed through Kim's watch onto the ceiling of the SUV. Even Ron, glancing up from figuring out the rifle, could recognize the intruders.

"Is that Shego and Drakken?"

"Wade, how many times do I have to say: tell me the important information first." Kim said, eying their pursuers as they too hit pavement, closing in slowly but surely, "How far is this compound?"

"Just having some fun." He said, grinning and closing the feed, "Second left and then a five mile service road. I know it's not the school case, but you couldn't be closer."

"We're on it." Kim said, brushing her watch against her face and blanking the screen, "Ron, either shoot that rifle or get up here and drive, cause I sure can't do both."

"Hold on, just about figured it out," He said, brandishing it and crouching to open the undamaged back barn door.

"Eat plas-"

The door recoiled on his arm and the rifle clattered onto the pavement, laying inert as they kept driving. Ron shut the door and clutched his arm, catching Kim's eye in the rear view mirror.

"Ron, that was our only weapon."

"It's... not so bad."

"Not so bad? Now I have to lose them, without leading -"

Behind them, a chain of hemispheric explosion brightened the cab and lifted the back end of their SUV, until it dropped with a bouncing squelch. All the glass behind the rear doors shattered and both occupants screamed in surprise amidst the din. Kim slammed the brakes to a halt, hair storming around her vision from behind. Both stared back as detritus rained down from where the pursuers used to be in the quiet aftermath. A crater claimed that section of the highway and fire lapped at hay in the surrounding fields. Fence posts became burning stumps and eventually absent the closer they stood to the epicenter. Ron turned from the destruction to meet Kim's face, his body singed and his smug expression mouthing words. Once the tinnitus dimmed, Kim finally understood what he was saying.

"Right on targett."

"Oh, please," Kim said loudly, turning back around and bringing the battered Suburban up to speed again. "It was dumb luck they drove over the microfusion cell like idiots."

"Not dumb luck, Kim, dumbskills."

"Your sleeve's on fire Mr. Dumbskills," Kim mumbled, hunched over, clinging to ten and two.

"What did you say?" Ron said, bringing the offending sleeve's finger up to try clearing his ear, "Speak loud-AH."


	17. Champs

**"The chase of champions, the pace, the pace.**

**The speed the need, the need to seed.**

**The chance to die.**

**Another dead don't cry, another dead don't cry.**

**You've still got speed, you'll maybe bleed,**

**But there's less time.**

**Less time than before, more speed than before.**

**You're rich not poor, what are you doing it for?**

**Want more, want more."**

"Dr. D, you're freaking me out."

Drakken stopped screaming and waving his hand, straddling the base of a forty foot upright rocket. The warehouse they were in housed dozens of examples like this one, in different shapes and colours. He dismounted and strolled to where Shego watched his antics like a curious zoogoer.

"But Shego, _what about_ Major Kong?"

Shego gave him a dead look.

"Bah, you're too young anyways."

A side of her lip curled. "That was a bomb, not a rocket."

"Rockets are like bombs, Shego."

"No, rockets are like missiles – actually, I don't care. Just hurry up and choose."

"Thanks to those polymer fingerprint casts and that barebones security crew, I have all the time in the world to choose. And I will take my time, thank you every much."

"Ho boy."

"Do you know how one chooses the perfect rocket?"

"Sort by price high to low, first result."

"Wrong and wronger. I weep for the demise of brick and mortar retail," Drakken said, approaching a long navy blue specimen with sharp fins. "It was a trick question anyways. The rocket chooses you."

"You must be kidding."

"From the pioneering days of Goddard and his almost adiabatic liquid fuel jet design-"

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"-to the genius of von Braun and his designs for the _Vergeltungswaffen _and Saturn Five - and now even Possible with his over-funded UAE moon 'ferries' - rockets have been building off of human ingenuity to surpass the limitations of their previous incarnations."

"No, enough history. Just pick one already."

"The profundity of my speech is clearly wasted on your perfunctory listening."

"What did I tell you about using words to confuse me?"

"Syllable count isn't what life's about. Littler words get the real feelings out."

"I did not say that. What did I tell you about rhyming?"

"Why must you always break me down, Shego?" Drakken said, caressing a stainless steel fin as he passed, "We have but precious little time on Earth; it should be spent encouraging our fellow humans."

"Alright Ghandi, tone down your spirit quest," Shego said, pointing indiscriminately, "What about this one?"

Drakken hemmed and hawed.

"Seriously? What's wrong with it?" She said, looking where she pointed, "I happen to think it's pretty cute."

"Rockets aren't cute, Shego," Drakken said, storming down the aisle, "They're devastating, and ruthlessly efficient. There is no room in their design for 'cute'."

"But this one's stout and shiny green and look, it even has a a big smiley face on it."

"Well, I'll be," Drakken said, before returning to his search, "Still, novelty rockets are for amateurs. This is the big time."

"But how do you know it didn't choose you?"

"Because I didn't feel it."

"Oh come on, who doesn't feel something for that?"

"Not that one. This one."

"This one? The big steel syringe?"

A sleek metal tube with a tangent ogive nose cone and semi-circle stability fins concluded the aisle, dwarfing the rockets on either side of it.

"Actually," Shego rectified, "It looks like a pencil crayon with balls."

"This one chose me."

"Really? Are you positive?"

Drakken gave Shego a narrow-eyed frown.

"No, yeah, OK. Let's load it up and get out of here," Shego said, "There must be ceiling controls around here somewhere."

"Looking for a way out?"

Drakken and Shego spun to find:

"Kim Possible?"

"And," Ron said, bursting in front and raising his hands over and over as if to bolster a response, "And?"

"New sidekick?" Drakken asked.

"No."

"New haircut?" Shego asked.

"No."

"Updated credentials?" A henchman asked from the background, setting up the harness for the rocket.

"None to note." Ron said proudly. Kim's face fell with embarrassment.

"Then I'd say little miss Possible is outnumbered," Shego said, flaring her fists and pouncing forward to engage, "Drakken, Find that ceiling control."

"If you want to steal that rocket, you have to get past me first," Ron said, striking an offensive pose that accidentally engaged a large button on the panel behind him. The ceiling split apart and lethargically rolled open.

"Ron," Kim admonished, jumping and climbing the steel structure with Shego on her tail.

"Don't worry, I can fix it," Ron said, smothering the control panel like a pianist glissandoing. Alarm lights flashed. Autonomous robots activated and began arranging crates.

"I always thought you two were cute together." Shego said, barraging plasma, "Glad to see you stuck it through. So many of those high school couples don't make it."

"What about you two. I thought you two retired and got married or something," Kim said, concerned foremost with dodging and delaying, "But I guess this is what happens when you don't add to that 401k."

"First off, my retirement finances are in excellent order," Shego said, "And secondly, never marriage, and if I did, never him."

"Oh come on, you two must be considered common-law by now."

Shego let out a rageful roar and over-swung, losing her balance from the girder and clinging to the bottom of the I beam. As Kim turned to uproot her assailant's fingers, Shego kicked up momentum to swing and knock Kim off the platform, finding her footing to stand triumphantly. Too late to reach her hairdryer, Kim crashed into a crate carried by one of the robots.

Seeing the new dynamic, Ron acted quickly, aiming his belt buckle towards Shego.

"Grapple belt aw yeah,"

The projectile flew out at high velocity, directed right at Shego, but fell short and landed in the slowly rotating ceiling fan well below her.

"Uh-oh," Ron said, slapping at his stomach as the auto-retract engaged. Losing his footing, the line dragged him over and up towards the spinning blade. Ron cried out, and the line ended less than a foot from the fan, leaving him to hang and rotate with it.

"Come Shego, We've overstayed our welcome," Drakken said, holding a stabilizer fin as the cargo chopper lifted the massive rocket from its storage, "It's been a blast, Kim Possible, and... you."

Drakken's evil laughter faded into the thrum of the helicopter and then all that Ron could hear was his ceiling fan.

"Kim?"

No reply from the bustling warehouse floor. Ron struggled against the bonds, to no avail.

"Seriously not cool."

From the depths of his pocket, Rufus scurried up to click the slow repel button on Ron's buckle.

"How do you always know how to work the gadgets?" Ron asked as he descended, splayed out and rotating, "I guess I should have asked before I took, but it was right by the boots,"

Once back on solid ground, Ron hurried over to examine the broken box Kim lay in. She had cuts and burns on her head, neck, and arms and her left shoulder looked out of place, but her chest rose and fell. Gathering her up, Ron carried her out of the facility, back to the Suburban, not quite sure how to proceed.


End file.
